Perfect Storm
by Pneumonia
Summary: The structural balance of the world was tilting ever since the war with Gaea. When tragic events set heroes apart, leaving some dead and others distraught sacrifices must be made. Even so, five years later a coincidence involving Percy Jackson sets the end of the world in motion.
1. Coincidence

**Look who's back with another multi-chapter fic? Me of course! This is one going to be relatively confusing, considering it _is _a Percy Jackson and Marvel crossover. Now that I said that, let me clear up a few things.**

**IMPORTANT:  
\- The events of this fic are placed five years after_ Blood of Olympus_ in the Percy Jackson world. Events are the same unless specified as something different.  
\- In terms of Marvel, this fic is set after the _Avengers_ but before _Captain America: The Winter Soldier_, before _Thor: The Dark World_ and _before Iron Man 3_. The events of those three movies may occur during the fic as it progresses or not at all. Multiple things have changed therefore if events of those movies take place, they occur slightly differently in regards to the fic's parameters.  
****\- Do not take Marvel's: _Agents of SHIELD _into account as that will have no relevance to this fic (unless I specify the appearance of a certain character _*cough*_ who isn't dead _*cough*_)  
_\- The Amazing Spider-Man_ will play into this story, following the events of _The Amazing Spider-Man 2_.  
****_\- The Guardians of the Galaxy_ will not be mentioned, and henceforth think their existence void unless otherwise specified.  
\- The X-Men will _probably_ not be integrated in this fic by name, although mutants will most likely be mentioned. Any characters or references will be taken only from _X-Men: First Class_ and _X-Men: Days of Future Past_ in order to simplify things.  
**

**I think that's everything, but if I forgot to mention anything else important than I will surely mention it later. Expect weekly updates, usually on Mondays. I will notify you guys in advance if I won't be able to stick to schedule.  
**

**Warning: This fic is rated T for language and implied adult themes. Action and gore will be integrated, and if anyone thinks the rating should change to M let me know.  
**

**Pneumonia**

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**Chapter One: Coincidence**

_November 19th, 2012  
3:24am  
Earth_

Percy sighed as he took a swig from his glass of vodka.

Being a half-blood was never easy. It always involved evading the law, getting attacked by monsters and being able to respond to any Gods' needs at a moment's notice. Since the day he had slayed the Minotaur when he was twelve, Percy knew his life would never be the same. Myths proceeded to come to life and Percy became one of the greatest heroes of all time.

He saved Olympus _twice_.

He _survived_ Tartarus.

He _battled_ Titans, Gods, Giants and Primordial forces _alike_.

Even after coming out of all that _alive_, he should have known luck was never on his side. If it hadn't been for the ten previous years why should that have changed in the timespan it took for him to become a battle-seasoned warrior?

The bar around him was empty for a Friday night, with only one other person hanging around. To be fair it probably wasn't even Friday night anymore as Percy considered the length of time he sat there, it was more likely that the morning hours already passed. He silently observed the bystander with eyes trained to see any vulnerabilities, weak points and strengths. Even five years of isolation hadn't settled his mind or dulled the bloodlust he felt when he saw the potential for conflict.

Most of time Percy wished the world would throw him its worst, just for curiosity's sake. After all, what more could it possibly do after it sent him to _hell_ and _back_?

The immediate shock of returning from Tartarus hadn't affected him as much as it should have. For the most part, he integrated back into his daily routine of saving the world, and indulged himself back into his cause of defeating the threat at the time – Gaea. He fooled himself that he was fine, that everything was okay and that nothing could break him.

The vodka suddenly tasted bitter at the back of his throat as he remembered.

Tartarus had left him unhinged much like a paperclip that couldn't be bent back into shape. Of course he'd tried, but no matter what he did that paperclip could never be exactly the way it had been before. There would always be a blemish that stained its appearance with something unnatural. The others hadn't noticed it right away. They had thought he was still under shock, or upset from Leo's death therefore they didn't press the matter.

First it started with his lack of rambunctiousness.

They took note when he stopped making odd remarks about the blatantly obvious and when he faltered voicing any immediate thoughts brought to his attention. They noticed when he stopped cracking jokes at every occasion he possibly could and fell into a system where he never spoke unless spoken to. By that time they became deeply concerned and it was Annabeth whom was first to guess what was troubling him so.

The others could have never understood the terror that was Tartarus. They never had to experience the poison air that crushed his lungs or view the hordes of monsters that roamed. They never had to experience the _darkness_ he was enveloped with or the way sunlight could never feel right again.

Annabeth knew, but even she didn't understand what it did to _him_.

He didn't realize it until _that_ day – the one that changed everything. Tartarus had made him cruel and immoral. It had torn apart the loyalty he felt, leaving himself as a fallen hero without a fatal flaw. It left him abandoned in a world that only he could see, clouded his vision like the Mist that no longer affected his mind.

Here he was four years later, gulping down the anger and sorrow with another mouthful of the now dreadful-tasting alcohol. He allowed himself to close his eyes from a brief moment and let his thoughts wander further into good memories. He never really thought about _her_ anymore, he couldn't bear the gut-wrenching pain it brought him. He couldn't stand knowing that his partner of body and soul was torn away with pain equivalent to never-ending torture. Just before he allowed the tears to spill, Percy once again steeled his mind and faced the world around him.

He shifted to get his phone out of his pocket. When he was younger, he was warned that such devices acted as a homing signal for monsters to demi-gods such as himself, but honestly he didn't believe it anymore. He'd had a cell phone for a few years now and the only monster attacks he'd faced were the sporadic periodic half-hearted ones whether he used the device or not.

However, it didn't matter how many times Percy looked at the phone in the lowlighting, the lowest brightness always seemed to blind his retinas for half-seconds at a time, acting as further proof of the permanent damage Tartarus had caused him physically. When his eyes adjusted to the lighting, he was hardly surprised to see it half-past three in the morning.

Starring at his fourth empty glass of vodka sitting atop the bar, he decided that he drank enough for one night. Right now if he were normal, he would probably be out cold. It was odd really, how alcohol didn't affect him. Sure, he's felt a light buzz now and then, but he was never able to actually get drunk. Trust him, he'd _tried_. He assumed it had something to do with his control over liquids and the fact that it was nothing less than impossible for him to get dehydrated. Chuckling to himself, Percy guessed he probably had the strongest alcohol tolerance in the world.

The barmaid standing a few feet away was texting like no tomorrow. She sporadically glanced around the bar at uneven intervals, probably counting the total of two customers and determining whom still had a tab to pay. He realized this particular bar closed at four in the morning, so the barmaid was most likely anxious to end her shift and go home.

Casually, Percy shifted his frame off of the stool that he'd adopted as his own in the past few hours and slipped out his wallet. Counting the bills he needed along with a decent tip he placed them on the counter before retrieving his phone and heading for the door. On his way out he was surprised to hear the barmaid call out to him, almost as if he'd forgotten something. Upon turning around, he realized she was the one whom he actually talked to on occasion when he felt like dishing his normal problems to someone. She proceeded to wipe down the counter and collect the fee he left.

Percy raised a tired eyebrow in her direction, frankly unwelcome to the distraction. The late hour was finally catching up to his sleep deprived mind and all he wanted to do was head back to his apartment and sleep away the rest of the day.

"You're not planning on driving are you?" She asked in what seemed like concern as Percy fondled his motorcycle keys. This immediately waved alarm bells in Percy's mind. Monsters did this – make small talk before they attempted to kill you. Although Percy had met the barmaid before he still couldn't trust his judgement. Ms. Dodds had been the first monster disguised as a human in order to kill him, and since then she sure hadn't been the _last_.

"I'm fine," he replied sincerely. He supposed even if she wasn't a monster she wouldn't believe him considering he just drank enough vodka to give him alcohol poisoning. Maybe that why she was asking, not because she was a monster, but because she was one of those odd New Yorkers that cared for the wellbeing of others.

"No, you're not. It's crazy that you're even standing. If you don't call a ride I'll call the cops." She said with an air of authority as she shifted her brown hair behind her ears.

Percy sighed in annoyance, obviously this girl was very righteous towards other's well-beings. She wasn't a monster. He was just paranoid.

"Want me to walk a straight line for you? I don't sound like I'm slurring do I? What further proof do you need?" Percy said with irritation lacing his words as he proceeded to walk a few steps towards the barmaid in what was indeed a _straight_ line.

Slightly taken aback, the barmaid blinked her hazel eyes in disbelief, "I still can't let you drive. It's illegal–" Her sentence was interrupted by the sound of a chair screeching towards the far corner of the room, where a single man draped in a trench coat proceeded to get up.

Percy watched him with his peripheral vision. His fingers suddenly buzzed with anticipation at the prospect of something he didn't know. It set the hairs on the back of his neck on edge and excited him all the same. Something about the man was causing his demi-god instincts to spark. Immediately the thought of a monster fight to let off some accumulated steam sounded incredibly appealing.

Unconsciously and unnoticeably, Percy shifted his feet into a slightly stronger stance as he continued to keep the corner of his eye trained on the figure. Percy watched in what would seem like disinterest to others as the man made his way over to where he was standing. Of course, Percy _was_ blocking the door at the moment, so the realistic option was that Percy was simply in the man's way.

"Hey," the barmaid spoke up once again, and this time her voice wasn't directed to Percy, "You haven't paid your tab."

With the speed of a bullet, the cloaked figure suddenly lunged for Percy with an appendage that was definitely not an arm. If Percy wasn't prepared for it, he would have most likely been hit wherever the monster was aiming. However, as quickly as the monster lashed out, Riptide transformed and countered the blow without a millisecond to spare. With the same movement, Percy brought the blade upwards on what he now identified a claw and without a second thought dust spurted from where the limb was severed.

The monster faltered slightly as it comprehended its failed surprise attack and quickly attempted to back away in order to prepare a form of defense or strategize a new offence. Percy didn't give the monster the time of day considering he predicted that very same movement, Percy lashed out with his foot to give the monster _extra_ momentum. With this Percy effectively startled his foe once more, causing the monster to stumble backwards over a table.

Percy didn't give the monster a moment of reprieve before his onslaught continued. He leaped over the overturned table to stab the monster through its cloak and into its chest. Sand pooled like a liquid around Riptide, however the monster didn't completely dissipate yet. With a final slash, Percy raised his sword from the wound and beheaded the now uncloaked menace. Immediately the remaining body parts exploded into a cloud of the golden dust, managing to dissipate into the air within a moment's notice, leaving nothing but an overturned table and a kneeling Percy.

The first thing Percy did when his vision adjusted once more to the scenery around him was to make sure no other monsters were lurking nearby. Once that inspection was complete, his attention was directed once more to the girl whom looked wide eyed and terrified.

Even from the distance across the bar, Percy could tell she was shaking and without a doubt he realized she could see through whatever the Mist had made of his encounter. Standing up slowly, he attempted to remember the last time that had happened. It was around seven years ago, during his quest to find Annabeth. Rachel Dare had been able to see through the Mist and had actually aided him in his fight. Admittedly, Rachel had seen skeletal warriors, but what was the difference anyway?

Percy expertly recapped and pocketed Riptide in one smooth motion. It seemed to have calmed the barmaid slightly.

"A sword. Out of nowhere. Oh God it's New Mexico all over again–" She started rambling before she suddenly clamped her mouth shut in what seemed like realization.

"You're one of _them_ aren't you?" The brunette raised her eyebrow in question.

Percy's mind was working at a hundred miles per hour, trying to clue together anything he could. This girl had perhaps seen something similar in New Mexico, even if that seemed odd to Percy. Further, the way she said "them", _could_ she be referring to demi-gods?

"Calm down," Percy started slowly, "I'm not going to hurt you–"

"I've seen enough movies to know when a stranger tells you they _aren't_ going to hurt you – they _totally_ are." She scoffed in a slightly childish way, and if the situation weren't so serious at the moment Percy might have thought she reminded him slightly of himself.

"I'm serious. Hear me out. That thing you just saw, _that_ was a monster. _That_ would have killed _me_. Understand?" Percy drawled, deeply hoping that was enough to sate the curiosity of the mist-immune girl.

"Well no duh, hard to hide the scales and everything, but what did _you_ do to it? So far, you seem like the more dangerous one to me," She analyzed the situation in what she probably thought was a logical way, but to Percy it just made talking his way out of this _so_ much harder.

"Don't ask questions you don't want to the answers to," Percy said harshly, hoping to deter the barmaid from her investigation. Percy really didn't feel like ruining her life by revealing the world he was a part of. Too many good people got killed that way, and he didn't want to witness anymore casualties because of him.

"Oh," she dragged out the sound as she fixed her glasses, "I get it. You _are_ one of them, all top-secret and stuff. Don't worry, I won't tell anyone that I found out you were following me," she winked in a conspicuous way, "but, can I know why you use a sword? Usually you guys have some high-tech guns and gismos."

Percy blanched. _What_ was she talking about? He was now almost positive she _didn't _know about demigods, or else she wouldn't have commented on the sword. No one he knew – maybe besides some Hephaestus kids – used any "high-tech guns and gismos". He also couldn't come up for a reason why demi-gods might be following her. She was too old to be an ignorant half-blood and Percy doubt she had anything to do with the Romans since she worked at a bar in New York.

Instead of carefully organizing an answer as he had been prior, for a moment all reason abandoned him when he muttered a flabbergasted, "What _are_ you talking about?"

She widened her eyes a little in shock, but slowly a grin rose to her face. "You're good, I swear you could be an actor – you almost had me there. I get that you gotta keep all this on the down-low, so how about I drive you to wherever you people sleep and I'll see you tomorrow?"

To say Percy was confused would be an understatement. Maybe he was confused before, when she had mentioned something about knowing whom he was, but _now_, along with the fact that she was willing to drive him home was _preposterous_. What kind of person expected to be followed by people with "high-tech guns and gismos" along with the capability to kill _monsters_? What it some kind of organization? She mentioned something about him being top-secret, but what about the monster bit? Monsters didn't just go after regular people. While Percy was lost in thought, the barmaid started talking again – to his gratitude _and_ horror – while she started cleaning up the bar in a carefree manner.

"Just give me a few minutes – its closing time anyway – and we can be off," She stated cheerily, as if she wasn't just about to drive a total stranger somewhere. After another few moments of silence where Percy couldn't find anything to fill gap – even _denying_ the offer didn't seem like a possibility anymore – she proceeded to ask Percy the number one ice-breaking question in the world.

"Can I at least know your name?" Her tone was slightly sarcastic, as if she didn't expect to get an answer.

"Percy." He responded dryly, still quite unsure how to react to his current predicament.

"Per-cy," she tried the name out, "I like it – it has a nice ring. Well as long as we're introducing ourselves," she started her sentence just as she finished cleaning and held out her hand for what Percy assumed was going to be a handshake, "I'm Darcy."


	2. Imprisonment

**Okay! I'm back and with a few more important side notes. But first - reviews.  
**_Guest 1_: It will be explained in a couple chapters, don't worry!  
_deathtoanarchy_: Thanks so much! Hopefully I don't disappoint!  
_AsDarknessSpreads_: You're getting intuitive. ;) Thanks for the advice!  
_Guest 2_: It may be meticulous, but all I'm doing is trying to avoid any confusion.  
_Winterlover6_: Thanks, but you haven't seen (read?) anything yet! :P  
_omega2199_: Thanks! I've never used a beta before and for now I think I'm okay. Thank you for offering.  
_Guest 3_: As for parings, this is not a romance fic. Some things may be implied, but for the most part it is Percabeth.

**I'm sorry to do this again, but I had to re-work a few things for the plot, and I have to specify a few more placements for the timeline.  
****\- I said previously this occurs before Thor: The Dark World. That still stand, however, assume Loki was already placed in prison.  
****\- This fic is placed at the end of the Amazing Spider-Man 2, (after Gwen's death) but before the 5 month absence of the wall-crawler. For the sake of the fic, this absence does not occur unless specified.  
\- This is based on the CINEMATIC Marvel universe, although small comic-oriented specifications of things may be implied for the sake of the plot. No background knowledge of the comics is needed. If anyone is curious, any small tidbits of information will only be taken from Earth 616.**

**BEFORE I FORGET - I INCLUDED A SETTING IN THE FIRST CHAPTER AS WELL, AS NOTED IN ITALICS UNDERNEATH THE TITLE.  
**

* * *

**Chapter Two – Imprisonment**

_Date Unknown  
Time Unknown  
Asgard_

Waiting was never one of Loki's strong suits.

After all, it involved patience, much of which he lacked these days. Especially after his ordeal with The Other, where he had foolishly assumed following his plans would have been interesting, possibly even successful, but alas anything that needed to be done _right_ had to be done by oneself – _alone_. Loki had allowed his mind to be influenced and all it did was limit his prowess and end in failure. However, it was nothing more than distasteful in the grand scheme of things.

His prison was a joke.

The Asgardians all believed him contained and powerless, but none of them knew the power he held. They could guess, they thought they _knew,_ but in their comparative perspective he was nothing short of all-powerful due to their meager standards. The mortals had even thought _muzzling _him was going to stop the simple strings of words that crushed men and fooled Gods. The all thought mere _chains_ would limit his movements. The treated him like he was a _mortal_. They thought him _weak_.

Well, Asgardians _weren't_ known for their intelligence.

Despite all this, Loki didn't dare let them believe otherwise, for the sheer-amount of his power was a mystery to all but himself, and he intended to keep it that way as long as he could. It was true that his power had weakened while on Midgard, but the Asgardians were absolutely foolish to think he was _powerless_.

After all, even upon his entry to Midgard he had held the barest minimum of his power, small fragments regained only through the might of the Tesseract. With that he had managed a war, and the Avengers barely had him defeated. The thought made Loki grin. _Now_, he was back on Asgard and finally he could feel the energy surge throughout his veins with renewed vigor, finally giving him the reprieve he needed after so much deep-space exploration.

It wouldn't be long before he would set his next scheme in motion. In fact, all things considered, it already was.

The Asgardians and mortals alike had thought his journey to Midgard a failure, but what they hadn't known is exactly how many times _prior_ he'd been to Midgard. They thought his first corporal journey there had been when he used the Tesseract to open a gate into the realm – which was considerably easier than his other methods in retrospect – although, that had been the later of many journeys.

In fact, he had been banished by Zeus to Tartarus on multiple occasions due to his dwellings on what they called Earth, (admittedly, he had caused chaos for his amusement) but Loki wasn't about to relive those experiences. Nor was he going to commemorate the fact that Aphrodite had escaped his enslavement simply because Zeus could not fathom it. Hence his second "vacation" to the realm of the damned, and Loki wasn't keen on reliving those older memories either. They had practically been half a millennia ago.

In fact, the only flaw Loki could find in his present plan was the lack of interference from the Midgardian Greek Gods. They hadn't bat an eyelash during his assault on what was practically their doorstep, leaving the supposed Avengers to counter his army. Perhaps they had believed in mortals for once, but Loki doubted. Something _must_ have happened to force them not to play a hand. Even more so, during that ordeal Loki had _hoped_ to anger the Gods, force them to reveal themselves to the mortals that no longer worshipped them. Since they hadn't, as Loki had predicted, it was fortunate Loki set his plan years before, or else he might have failed his true objective. There were plenty other pieces arranged in his favour, and now all he needed was an appropriate pawn.

He hadn't realized, that with the monarchy of the Greek Gods, mortals weren't their descendants. As the Gods once overthrew the Titans, he had thought those insolent beings were the next step to overthrow the Gods. Undoubtedly it had been a rare moment of utter stupidity, one that almost jeopardized his plans. Loki had forgotten one key element, something perhaps so obvious he couldn't fathom it being that simple.

Silently, he pressed his palm against the magical barrier of his cell.

It was foolish really, for Odin to condemn him to an _Asgardian_ prison, especially one that used sorcery. Sorcery was _his_ weapon, and any who thought they could wield it against him – well that was frankly idiotic. It was times like this where Loki actually attempted to comprehend the stupidity of Asgardians, considering that very same stupidity would factor into his plans. Sometimes, he just _couldn't_ grasp how such simplistic matters were overlooked.

It was also times like this where Loki deigned the possibility that they _weren't_ stupid and that he was just smart. However likely, he couldn't allow himself to truly believe it or else without a doubt he would become careless.

Loki couldn't have that, now could he?

Feeling the barrier shimmer and wane under the pressure he applied through his fingertips, he moved them in a soundless melody. It was comical really, considering it wouldn't take more than a second for him to break through it, considering it needed only a pint of brute force and a significant amount of knowledge. These barriers were meant for the underdeveloped thoughts of the criminals ensnared into Odin's trap. None of them had the keen sense of mind that allowed Loki to understand the way the density of the wavelengths shifted underneath his fingers, to calculate the number of realities this fabric of space and time entwined with or how a simple precise movement would disable this realm for barely a quarter-second.

All he had to do, Loki thought as he let his fingers dance atop the shimmering surface, is find the origin of the barrier. It couldn't have been larger than a needle point, but with his senses trained to create and dismantle sorcery it was an easy task.

Each day Loki would stand here, place his hand on this particular part of the barrier, and reassure himself of his escape if necessary. He was never trapped. He had known how to leave his prison the moment he was locked inside it. The reason he hadn't escaped already (because he surely could) was for one simple reason: it was not time. Too many variables were still unknown, too many circumstances not planned for. All he could do for now was plan and wait for the time when he could set the major parts of his plan in motion.

He had a feeling he would be called for soon enough. If the events he had set in motion proved fruitful, he wouldn't even need to escape his cell himself. For now, to any that saw him, he was but an illusion of peace, reading without a care whatsoever. But, if they _could_ they wouldn't see him leisurely relaxing, he would be there analyzing, planning and scheming for every one of the scenarios that could occur between now and forever.

Lowering his hand from the barrier, a slow pulse reverberated throughout it, stabilizing the barrier once more. The guards trained to watch the prisoners were as always motionless, usually never moving anything but their eyes. Loki locked eyes with the one that was watching him. The guard looked right through him to the illusion of himself reading a book. These guards may have seemed alert to all the other prisoners, prepared for any diversions that any may attempt, but Loki knew better. These guards were not analyzing, they were scared. Some of the nine-realm's most dangerous criminals dwelled in this stronghold and the guards were dreading the moment any of them attempted to escape. In fact, the guards' gazes may have been scrutinizing towards the cells' occupants, but ever since Loki had been walked into the dungeon he could _sense_ the terror he caused them.

After all, when he was first brought to his cell, he had been bound by a number of chains infused with sorcery, which the Asgardians _thought_ were powerful enough to contain him, and they had even _dared_ to re-muzzle him with the cursed object S.H.I.E.L.D. had made. Admittedly, they had added enchantments, even if Loki didn't see the benefit of doing so otherwise than terrifying the guards on duty.

All the guards knew the tales of how Loki could turn their minds to mush with barely a word.

When he had entered his cell, his bonds had been removed and they had called upon his mother to soundproof it so none of his words would reach the ears of those around him. If _anyone_ knew how dangerous his voice was, it was Frigga. His adopted mother was one of the only beings in the world Loki truly cared for, and she understood him more than any of the others. She felt his desire to rule, wept at his imprisonment and wished anything but using her sorcery against one of her sons.

Loki had not said a word as she did it, out of respect for her. In the brief moments where he had been un-muzzled and audible, he could have disrupted the minds of all the guards present and even gone so far as to upset his brother further. But, he hadn't, and now he could now scream bloody murder and none would blink for he was muted to all but himself. Loki didn't mind. He could restore sound to his voice whenever he pleased – be it by leaving the cell or simply breaking the enchantment – though he hadn't as he did not care to goad the guards anyway. It was better to let them all believe he _was _powerless. His voice was a very lethal weapon, but it was far from his only one. It might have been the most resourceful and perhaps the weapon he was most skilled at, but that didn't matter at the moment.

Slowly, he walked around his confined space, contemplating the scenario of his imprisonment.

It was perhaps obvious, but his sentiment dulled his insight on the topic. At first, the All-Father had wished his lips sewn shut by none other than the Enchantress whom was another prisoner skilled in manipulating the minds of men. If she had bound her curse into the thread in order to stop the flow of truth and lies alike that resounded from Loki's mouth, only she would be able to undo it. It had shocked Loki at first, but nonetheless he had laughed. It seemed so _human_ to disable speech in such a way, to bind the gap with a needle and thread, to stop the silken strung syllables he manifested simply by rendering him unable to speak. However, furthermore to Loki's amusement, Thor had _refused_ the idea, claiming it cruel and that even his _brother_ had not sunk so low as to be muted permanently in such a disrespectful way. Loki hadn't known whether to be touched or offended. Having his lips bound by the Enchantress seemed invigorating, the introduction of a new dilemma that would simply strengthen him further. In the end Odin had surprisingly agreed with Thor and the result was instead using Frigga's sorcery to soundproof his containment.

Loki closed his eyes, and when he opened them he was free of his cell in a reality none could see. He had not actually escaped, he simply created an illusion of himself to which he focused his conscience. He looked back towards where the guards watched his visible illusion casually flip the page of a novel. He then proceeded to walk alongside the guards on watch and further down into the dungeon. He spared no glance to the creatures of the nine-realms idling in their cells. They were not of importance. That was until he viewed the golden hair of a maiden whom sat curiously in her cell, her eyes turned towards him. If he didn't know better, he would have guessed she sensed his presence.

The only disappointment Loki felt towards the path taken for his muteness was that he would not meet the Enchantress. The tales of her power were thrilling, as she used much of the same web as Loki to ensnare her victims. He was curious however, on why her power only worked on men. He supposed that it was possible she wasn't skilled enough to manipulate women, but somehow he felt it was more of a preference. The marvels of speech were wonderful, but to limit it like that, Loki couldn't help but feel like there was wasted potential. It was a shame that he would not be able to turn her into a pawn like many others, due to the fact that he would not have the circumstantial events to do so.

That was unless he convinced Thor that he was so utterly wretched that the only way to refute his behaviour was to condemn himself to such a fate of silence.

Looking at the women before him, Loki wished he could have a conversation with her to truly understand what it meant to speak to someone as compelling as himself. Nothing he did was for naught however, as one day he_ was _going to speak with the women that might be able to control his mind as he could many others. In fact, he might just consider altering his plan slightly to include her involvement.

In actuality, having the Enchantress in his plan would further the chance of success, and if not, could escape failure almost completely unscathed. It was ideal. Loki would only now need to enmesh her to his will…

That was when Loki decided that since it was ever-boring in his cell, he might as well create some chaos in the form of some much-deserved entertainment. It was in this moment that he was committed himself to meeting the Enchantress, simply because he felt like it. Nothing could deter his carefully thought out plans anyway, not even the loss of his voice. It was time to convince Thor that he _did_ need his lips sewn shut by none other than the bewitcher of men.

Therefore, Loki supposed, it was time for some _mischief_.


	3. Connections

**I'm sorry, I know I'm a day late. You guys probably don't want to hear excuses (even if they are valid) so I'm just going to tell you the main factor that prevented this upload. Internet problems. (Not to mention that I got sick, traveled, and have been _really _busy,all of which have made this chapter almost impossible to write.) I'm warning you guys right now, this chapter was very odd for me to write, and I think it is strongly OOC. I do not like it, so any criticism is gladly accepted. I also haven't proofread it, so if there are any spelling or grammar mistakes I am once again sorry.  
Reviews:**  
_Winterlover6_: Haha, thanks so much! I tried ;)  
_ThatOneWeirdGuy_: ... ;)  
_FictionFantasy VI_: Thanks so much! I'm trying to create an intricate plot that seems _plausible..._ so it's not to easy. I'm glad you're enjoying it. Your review made my day!  
_AsDarknessSpreads_: Lol, I honestly didn't like him much at first in Thor, but he grew on me in the Avengers. (AKA the story of almost _every_ fangirl)  
_KarinaMoreno2000_: Here's my update :P, even if it's a day late. Don't worry there is a reason, and if I don't re-review my chapter layout before the next chapter, than yes I think _some_ information will be there.  
_PizzaCanBePoetsToo_: Thanks!

* * *

**Chapter Three: Connections**

_November 19__th__, 2012  
7:12am  
Earth_

Natasha Romanoff was in a particularly sour mood.

In wasn't anything unusual that she had to work undercover in order to defeat, solve, restrain or murder certain "scenarios". This part didn't bother her. It was her job, it was what she signed up for ever since Barton convinced her to defect sides, and in the end, it had been a step up on the ladder of morals. Don't get her wrong, she knows she's committed far too many immoral things to ever wish to be entirely redeemed. It didn't bother her. All Natasha cared about was living for the moment and the path that made her life worth living. The thing that did bother her enough to lower her mood, however, was the fact that Nick Fury suddenly told her to investigate the murder of a teenager like it was nothing usual.

She was a spy – a master of espionage. Natasha supposed it justified Fury's reasoning's' to make her into a detective when it was called for. But, she was also a master assassin, and even if this particular request was in her skill range, it just didn't sit well with her. It wasn't even practical. She knew Fury made this decision for reasons only he knew, for plots he was only dreaming of and for connections she might only be able to identify. It wasn't that Natasha didn't respect Fury or his judgement. She most certainly did, no questions asked. Although, when it came to questions, she wasn't too sure whether she wanted to know the answers to the ones she got, or if she was even asking the right ones anymore. The Director had as much blood on his hands as she did and he ran a world-wide organization to protect people while she was left harming the ones who didn't believe in his philosophies.

Natasha may be ruthless, cunning, and many more flattering and very un-flattering things to all whom knew her, but if one thing was certain it was that she was not an emotional person. She didn't have any religious ideals to follow, no family with hope to impress, and nobody she cared enough about to have it plastered in the stars. Therefore, just the aspect that she was disagreeing with Fury was odd. She knew he always did what he thought was best and she supported him. He told her what to do, that was obvious, but he never told her _how_ to do it. Respectively, she's never told him how to do his job either. Their relationship worked out of mutual understandings and objectives, things they _both_ sympathized to.

That's why Natasha just couldn't understand the need he'd had for _her specifically,_ to investigate the murder of a teenager instead of someone completely capable but less well-known, someone that wasn't going to attract attention or seem _incredibly _out of place. Someone like Agent Hill.

Of course, she had suggested this theory as politely as she could to the Director, but all she received were a few more words with no more meaning than gibberish and an assignment she was still unpleased to work on.

That's why at this particular moment in time, Natasha stood facing a demolished energy plant as the sun attempted to bleed its rays throughout the fog of the morning haze. It was on the outskirts of the district, allowing her a clear view of the murky depths that surrounded Manhattan. Adjusting her autumn over-coat, she strode purposefully towards the unrecorded site of death for the victim.

Natasha just didn't know why it involved her.

She was never given details unless she specifically asked for them, and this time even Fury hadn't told her. It was surprising to say the least, considering he had her personally investigate the Avengers initiative when she had been a part of it. Due to that, Natasha found it very hard to come up with a plausible reason as to keep her misinformed.

The only connection Natasha had possibly come up with for this rather random and untimely investigation was that the night Gwen Stacy died was also on the same day of Loki's invasion. But even this didn't make sense, because regrettably plenty of people had died during that ordeal so it didn't seem like such a crazy thing that this recently graduated female would have died in that incident. The only other possibility Natasha could come up with as to this peculiar scenario would be the fact that it had happened _hours_ after they had defeated Loki and his alien army, meaning her death had been a possible result of an unknown aftermath.

As she perused through the oddly designed power plant, she noticed the even more oddly placed clock tower that was the even stranger place of Miss Stacy's death. It was obvious that the clock tower was broken. The hands read the time being around 1:21 when it was clearly a quarter past seven as Natasha quickly checked her accurate watch.

Using her somewhat existent detective skills, she attempted to skillfully evaluate the situation. Assuming the clock was working when Miss Stacy was here and had malfunctioned, 1:21 – which Natasha assumed was the following morning – could possibly be the exact time of the girl's unfortunate death. If not, it was simply another useless factor in an investigation of nothing, considering there were no leads, no body to investigate or any witnesses to contact. All Natasha knew was the location and even that didn't seem any helpful.

However, she also knew Fury wouldn't give her something to work on if there wasn't a way in order to do so. There had to be something there, some sort of clue as to what happened to Miss Stacy on that particular night, and it was Natasha's job to figure it out. Finally understanding the difficulty of this particular case, Natasha assumed that could be one of the factors as to why she was the sole person assigned to solve it. Perhaps the Director believed in her intellect as much as her prowess in espionage, or he just really, _really_ felt like pissing her off, especially when he didn't give her any details as to _why_ she needed to solve this in the first place.

As far as she knew, this could be up to the NYPD and had nothing to do with S.H.I.E.L.D. whatsoever.

Despite what she believed, she didn't have a choice in matter. She had to figure out something, and if she didn't, well she would have to face Fury empty handed. Even to someone like Natasha, that _wasn't an option_.

Her only clue at this point was the very obvious _Oscorp Power_ sign plastered across the energy plant. They had formerly run the electrical grid throughout New York City until it went haywire with what Natasha assumed was Loki's wormhole. The city had blackened, and along with all the chaos occurring there had to be some major electrical interference. Somehow Stark tech managed to take over but not without a fight. In Natasha's opinion, Norman Osborn's death had also killed his company. His son was managing it well enough, but after the grid collapse and Stark initiating his control – it was only a matter of time until the company either died or became a smaller branch of Stark Industries.

Even so as she walked inside the power building, she was surprised to see most of the electrical properties functioning normally. It wasn't until she tried to reach the upper levels she began to see bloodstains and the obvious neglect to the machines. As she looked out from the illuminated windows, from the neglected control panel, she noticed another peculiar thing.

Some sort of nylon cord, presumably a conductor, was attaching four of the power mainframes – whom were most definitely torn apart – back together and somehow keeping the grid functioning. Curious, Natasha left the building once again to see the strange structure. As she approached, she recognized it not only as nylon cord but the webbing of the almost non-existent vigilante – Spider-Man.

She hadn't heard of him for months, but she supposed that could have been because she was so preoccupied with S.H.I.E.L.D. matters she never noticed. He was just another one of those named superheroes in the world and she couldn't care less. Suddenly, as abrupt as a switch turning on, she once again surveyed the wreckage that she assumed was from power grid combustion. Now she truly saw it for what it was. With this she was already half way through her investigation to figure out what happened here.

It was a battlefield.

It was obvious Spider-Man had been involved due to the abundance of whatever he used as "webbing", but the questions were these: who was he fighting in a power plant and what did Gwen Stacy have to do with any of this?

Natasha glanced around once more, hoping to uncover more secrets now that she was asking the right questions. Gwen was a worker at Oscorp, therefore she might have been here to help with the repair… but an electrical major would have to be here, Gwen was just out of high school. What Natasha needed to know what who designed this power grid, because they were ones most likely here to help with the repair at the time.

But, why was _Spider-Man_ here? That means there must have been some sort of threat to civilians. Loki was here with his chitauri army, but that was hours before. Just what sort of threat was here _after_ all that? Did Loki leave something behind? Was it something completely new? If so, why that night of all nights?

Calmly, Natasha slipped into her state of mind that allowed her to think like a criminal. She didn't know how much it would help in this case, but she supposed it was worth a shot.

The city would have been recuperating from the earlier invasion. Police force would be spread thin and small crimes would go unnoticed in all the wreckage. Power was off and one due to certain damages, no one really noticed amongst the chaos. Hours later if the grid were to be shut off, it would be seen as an after effect taking its toll on the straining power supply. The power shutting off would disable any camera footage in places, allowing for easy break-ins and stealing. Perfect crime time.

Natasha assumed that someone came here to disable the grid to shop-lift or commit any other crimes. It must have been more than a no-name criminal if Spider-Man came here to confront them. It had to be someone important, along with someone who knew the grid.

Gwen Stacy? No, she wasn't skilled enough to do any of those things, along with the fact that she was killed. Spider-Man never killed, of that Natasha was sure. Perhaps, taken as a hostage? Why? What leverage would this person need if they only intended to disable the power-plant completely and conspicuously?

Unless, Gwen Stacy arrived with Spider-Man. That would make sense. Although, that would mean she knew the identity of Spider-Man, possibly even an important person to him. That just raises the question: why would Spider-Man bring her?

Natasha was rarely puzzled, but all the possibilities she came up with seemed illogical.

This _villain_ must have had another purpose, or perhaps there was more than one. Whomever it was had to know about the Oscorp Power system, as well as be able to battle Spider-Man on par. Was it another mutant? Was it _Loki_? No that's preposterous, he was sent back to Asgard while Natasha watched, and even if he had somehow escaped back to Earth what was the _motive_? There were no people here to kill and destroying the power system would be no more than an inconvenience. More so, Loki always wanted a show – he would have never attempted any of this with stealth on his mind.

Natasha considered the idea of it being a new foe. It was possible but unlikely, especially if there were more than one. She searched her memory. Was there _anything_ that could give her hints – that's when she remembered the small phenomenon in Times Square that occurred while God of Mischief first appeared on Earth and stole the Tesseract. There had been a being (perhaps a mutant) whom seemed able to control electricity. Spider-Man had fought him and saved countless lives, disabling the being with water before Ravencroft took him in.

Ravencroft. The name was fowl on Natasha's tongue. She knew how they tortured those who were there.

If this electrical being escaped Ravencroft, they would most likely head for electrical power, which at the time the biggest source in the city had been where she was standing. That was it, _that_ was who Spider-Man was fighting.

But still the question lingered. Why was Gwen Stacy involved in all of this?

Her Oscorp employment seemed the most likely factor, although unless Natasha found a way to recreate the events that happened she would never figure it out. The only verified people she had as witnesses were dead or a certain vigilante, and it didn't make her life any easier. However, slowly a thought crept up to the back of her head like the spider she was looking for.

Fury had sent her to figure this out for one ultimate goal – Spider-Man. Natasha didn't know whether it involved threat containment to something as extreme as Avengers recruitment, but that much seemed obvious. The only next step she could take, the only plausible way to get answers, the very reason that she was _here _was so stupidly obvious it was genius.

Natasha had to track down Spider-Man's real identity.


	4. Awkward Situations

**I'm on time! :D I can honestly say this chapter was a blast to write, even if it was a pain to edit. I'm trying to get characterization for the most part IC, so any suggestions are appreciated. I was also wondering if anyone had an idea or link to a picture for this story. I might end up drawing or editing one, but - again - suggestions are always welcome!**

**IMPORTANT:  
Let me know in your reviews whether or not you guys want:  
a) A complex more serious plot where the chapters are usually fragments of different perspectives (what I'm currently doing)  
_or_  
b) A simple and more comedic plot with more cliche instances and chapters that _do_ directly follow eachother (what I'm not currently doing)**

_Reviews:  
Person:_ Due to the plot I'm trying to make work, a lot of the chapters won't directly relate to eachother. That being said, the focus of this story is primarily Percy Jackson's encounter with the Marvel Universe even if it does have side plots.  
_Guest:_ Thanks, your review helped me believe the previous chapter was not a _total_ trainwreck in my opinion. ;)  
_Winterlover6:_ Ever so kind, here's your update.  
_Starkiller99:_ Here's your "More". :P

* * *

**Chapter Four: Awkward Situations**

_November 19__th__, 2012  
8:56am  
Earth_

Percy woke up that morning with a headache that was definitely not from a hangover.

Although surprisingly, since he woke up to the delicious smell of breakfast, whatever was bugging his mind was immediately forgotten. Groaning as he hauled himself from his rather comforter-tangled position on his bed, he allowed a smile to adorn his face with the thought of seeing his mom.

He loved when she showed up out of the blue some Saturday mornings and made him breakfast. It reminded him of when he was a kid, obsessed over proving to his gods-awful stepdad Gabe that blue food _exists_ and henceforth ate hordes of it whenever it was present.

Plus, his mom's blue pancakes _were the best_.

Therefore, when he shuffled out of his room and into the living space of his small apartment, you can say he was a bit more than shocked to see a woman that _wasn't_ his mother preparing breakfast. Furthermore, said woman was the weird girl from last night and _why was she here_?

The events of the previous night rushed back to him, and he could safely say all that happened is Darcy drove him home after the mix-up that consisted of their awkward encounter. Speaking of awkward, the noise Percy made from shutting his bedroom door had caught her attention.

Turning around with a plate of bacon in her hands, Percy guessed Darcy was not expecting to see him with _only _sweat pants. However, he didn't expect her to drop the _glass_ plate and waste the perfectly good breakfast food _just_ because he was shirtless.

The knife-like shards scattered throughout the general vicinity, and immediately they both dropped to the floor to clean up the mess. Darcy's cheeks were tinted pink, and she was stammering uncontrollably.

"Uh, so sorry about that, I mean, I didn't–" She rambled in her own defense.

Percy laughed softly, "It's just a plate and some still-edible bacon," he said while he quickly plucked a piece off the ground and into his mouth. After he finished chewing it, (it was more like one chew followed by a swallow) Percy asked the question that seemed most obvious for this occasion.

"What are you _still_ doing here?"

She looked at him blankly for a second, before her smug grin returned and what he guessed was going to be another wild explanation of who she thought he was. He supposed he should really clear that up, but Percy honestly didn't expect to see the girl again since they parted ways the night before.

"I figured that if you're the person who is assigned to "watch over me" for whatever reasons you guys have, I thought would make your job easier by just staying here the night. After all," her eyes wandered away from his own in a sheepish way, "It was four in the morning and I was really tired and I hope you don't mind – I, I slept on the couch," Her smug grinned had disappeared only to be replaced with a look of uncertainty.

Percy grinned, just because he thought the look on her face was priceless. He was still sure of hell confused about everything she might have been talking about – don't get him wrong – although, for the moment he thought he could play this charade a little longer….

"Yeah right, don't worry about it. You should have told me you wanted to stay over, I would have given you my bed," Percy winked just for the fun of it, and almost burst out laughing when Darcy's cheeks became an even darker shade of pink. To be honest, Percy didn't know why he was in such a good mood, in fact, for the past four-ish years all he's done is mope around without a purpose in life anymore. He had forgotten how nice it was to actually talk to someone besides his mom, (as lame as that sounded), and just for the moment he wanted to enjoy it.

Darcy seemed at a loss for words for once and just keep silently picking up the last of the glass. Once it was all done, she stood up and threw out the shards and bacon alike, much to Percy's dismay. As far as he was concerned that bacon was perfectly fine, and he should have been allowed to indulge himself in some home-cooking for once. After a chunk of very awkward silence, Darcy finally seemed to find her voice.

"Look, I'm sorry about breakfast and everything, I guess I'll just leave, I mean, I might see you later considering… anyway… yeah bye," She stammered without meeting Percy's eyes, probably due to the fact that he was still shirtless, and proceeded to gather her keys and her stray fuchsia beanie.

Percy was now very aware that everything should be sorted out right now, because with his luck it would all come back to bite him later. Just when he decided he was going to figure out a way to explain everything without revealing he was a demi-god, his front door slammed and he was left standing alone in what was now a very empty apartment.

It was now that Percy also realized he had to walk over to the not-so-close bar if he wanted to see his motorcycle again.

•**ψ•Ω•ψ•**

Darcy was one of those people who learned to cope with everything as it was happening. She supposed it was a trait she got from studying political science. When they had first found the forsaken Thor, she coped, and that just happened to end up with her tasering him. All in all, Darcy reacted to things in ways she saw fit and if someone had a problem with that, she wouldn't back down.

However, meeting _Percy_ had been something odd – that was for sure – but she hadn't thought it was something she _couldn't _cope with. She'd met plenty of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents before, and she honestly wasn't surprised they had one tailing her. It probably had to do with her affiliation to Jane Foster, and how said scientist just ended up being the _God of Thunder_'s "fling". (Yes, she called it a fling because the guy hasn't visited in _years._)

So, all in all, Darcy thought she was prepared for anything, even when she, Jane and Eric all moved to Manhattan after the crisis that was the "Avengers". She wasn't even going to get _started_ on how _pissed_ Jane had been to find out Thor had been in New York, but _left_ before she could get here.

That's how Darcy ended up with the crappy night-shift part-time job at one of the less popular bars in the area. Of course, Jane and Eric got to stay in the Stark Tower and work on science things for S.H.I.E.L.D. but they hadn't room for good old Darcy. That's also how she ended up in a dingy little apartment in the same district as her crappy bar job.

Life sucked sometimes. But, just when things had been so absolutely _boring_, she'd met the very definition of interesting.

Of course, in the short month that she'd been working at the bar she'd seen the guy drown himself in glasses of vodka (_glasses!_) while she discreetly watched him out of the corner of her eye. He didn't show up too often, but when he did, he stayed for hours and usually on Friday nights. She didn't know why he seemed to draw her attention every time he showed up and offhandedly Darcy assumed it was his eyes. She had never seen eyes _that _bright and _that_ green. In fact, she would bet one week's pay that they would reflect light in the dark. Furthermore, she always wondered why such an _attractive_ guy would be doing drinking alone on a Friday night, so she had started conversations with him when he should have been off-the-rocker drunk. Those times hadn't gone too well, as he always seemed way too coherent, and in the end all she ended up with was tight-lipped few word answers. That was all fine, until last night, when he had the extra _two_ glasses of vodka and she really didn't know how he was awake, she decided that she just couldn't let him _drive_ his way to his deathbed.

That's right – she could be a good person.

That was also when shit hit the fan.

Darcy thought she would have been prepared for _anything_ since Thor popped out of nowhere and hit their truck, or since the giant robot thing attacked their little town in New Mexico, or since the catastrophe she'd heard about in New York involving aliens and Thor's _brother_ Loki.

Obviously, she wasn't prepared to see the only other person in the bar turn into some scaled monster _and_ see the drunk-as-hell good-looking guy pull a _sword_ out of nowhere. Not only that, the guy managed to dispatch the _thing_ in a couple well-timed movements and within a minute _whatever-it-was_ disappeared into a cloud of gold, leaving her very, very confused with a potentially-threatening sword-wielding stranger.

She'd just wished she'd brought her taser.

Turns out, the guy's name was Percy and he was actually a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. (He never actually said so but she could tell.) That's how she ended up trusting him, and _still_ argued to drive him home because even S.H.I.E.L.D. agents got drunk – right? (It didn't matter that he just totally annihilated _something_, she _wasn't _going to let him _drive_ anywhere.)

It was also four in the morning, so when she dropped him off at an apartment complex that was nicer than hers, and made sure he got to his apartment okay – even if he insisted he was fine – she decided _what the hell_ and plopped down on the couch. It was a very spur of the moment thing, but she _was_ a very spur of the moment girl.

She had woken up only a few hours later to the ungodly hour of eight in the morning to a very peculiar situation.

She was not in her own apartment and she _really_ had to pee. Long story short, she had found the washroom, not before stumbling into an oddly placed end-table (in actuality it wasn't all that odd) which Darcy would have _insisted_ hadn't been there moments before, when the _clunk_ of something falling caught her attention. Upon hurriedly inspecting the floor to ensure she hadn't broken anything – _that would have not gone well _– she noticed a picture frame on the table had only fallen over. Slightly scared to upright it for the chance it might have shattered, Darcy closed her eyes as she restored its original position. Peeking through one of her closed eyes, she noticed that in fact it _wasn't _broken – _thank God _– but instead, was actually a very heart-warming photograph. It must have been taken years ago, due to the fact that the boy whom she assumed was Percy couldn't be older than sixteen or seventeen. It made her heart clench to see such a happy face on a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, even more so to notice he was holding hands with a very pretty girl. The girl who was most likely around the same age of Percy in the picture had curly blond hair and striking grey eyes. Darcy assumed the girl was not accustomed to photos, due to the fact that her smile seemed somewhat awkward. She chuckled at the thought and with a start – scared she would have been caught prying – proceeded to search the nearest door for said washroom.

Within a few minutes later, (after finding the washroom) Darcy decided she would make breakfast because she was hungry, and she supposed that "her" S.H.I.E.L.D. agent wouldn't mind her lingering presence considering he _was_ supposed to watch over her anyway. When she had first scavenged for pots and pans and any other cooking necessities, she had noted the lack of well – _everything_ – in his apartment. Apart from a stray bottle or two of vodka (surprise, surprise) and a fruit situated here and there she hadn't found anything worth making breakfast of.

When she had finally looked in the freezer she found a frozen pack of bacon, and her cooking commenced. Darcy wasn't going to lie, she didn't cook often and she didn't think she cooked too well. At least it was bacon which basically involved plopping it in a pan, flipping it over a few times and take it off before it burned. By ten to nine she had a nice plate of delicious bacon if she did say so herself (which she did) when it just so happened to take a dive to the floor.

In reality, she hadn't possibly considered she would be startled by Percy, seeing as she had seen him pull a sword out of nowhere, but once again she couldn't have been more wrong. When the click of a door signified she had company, she was ready to plow into her story for still being there and making breakfast – she _hadn't_ expected him to be shirtless.

Don't get Darcy wrong, she has seen plenty of guys shirtless before. One of the more memorable instances involved the time with Thor, whom had possibly been the most cut guy she'd ever seen. So, it wasn't a fact of naivety or even surprise, as she had known Percy was there before she turned around.

That wasn't to say Percy wasn't ripped, because _he was_, but Darcy was certain that single factor alone wouldn't have been enough of a shock to make her drop the delicious plate of bacon. Especially when it involved a delicious plate of bacon.

It was the _scars_.

Even Thor didn't have scars like that, especially the gash that seemed to run from Percy's left shoulder to his right hip, standing out like a gash on a painting. There were smaller ones as well, ones that blended into the contours of his skin, but nothing compared to the terror Darcy felt towards _experiencing_ something that left _that_ particular scar.

With a quiver of her hands, the plate was let loose and the resounding shattering of glass is what finally brought her eyes away from what she assumed was a battle scar. There was no other way that could have happened, unless he'd been tortured – _oh God_, Darcy was panicking now, she couldn't imagine going through anything like that.

As she dropped herself to the floor to avert her gaze to the shards of glass, she realized with a start that this was the first time she _couldn't _cope with something. For some reason that scar had horrified her, petrified her into feeling such a sense of _fear_ that she wanted to curl up into a ball and hide herself from the world. Taking a deep breath, she steadied her hands and was able to start properly cleaning up the mess she made.

She hadn't realized she'd been stuttering an incomprehensible explanation until Percy's voice suddenly rang out like honey to her ears, almost incomprehensible with the sense of calm it brought.

"It's just a plate and some still-edible bacon," he had said, and Darcy managed to look up in time to catch him eating a piece of the floor-sullied bacon like nothing was wrong with it. Oddly, she wasn't disgusted, but grateful at what seemed like a simple act of reassurance. It hadn't lasted long, and soon enough he asked the obvious question.

Darcy had proceeded to ramble about S.H.I.E.L.D. agents and the time and before she knew it she mentioned how she slept on the couch. That wouldn't have bothered her, until she suddenly remembered the picture she had saw and was enticingly aware she might have intruded on something private. Her expression must have been somewhat akin to unsureness, considering he grinned and mentioned something about allowing her to sleep in his bed. She blushed at the thought, wondering if Percy was flirting when all of a sudden he started laughing, and if Darcy wasn't so distraught at the moment she might thought it the most joyful laugh she'd ever heard.

When she had finished picking up the remaining bacon and glass, she threw it out as fast as she could before mumbling some incoherent sort of goodbye and proceeded to leave the apartment. She didn't start breathing properly again until she was back in the safety of her car.

That's when the _absurdness_ of the past few hours hit Darcy like a ton of bricks.

She had seen some sort of monster slayed by an undercover drunk S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, proceeded to drive said agent home, slept at said agent's apartment, made said agent breakfast before having a nervous breakdown because she saw said agent's scars. Plus there was the fact that even if she didn't want to admit it, she might be mildly infatuated with said agent but that might just be the political science talking. (Because obviously political science had to do with the colour of his eyes and the totally badass sword-skills.)

If that wasn't an eventful morning Darcy didn't know what was.


	5. As Luck Would Have It

***Hides from angry followers, favouriters and reviewers* I'm updating late again, and I know sorry doesn't cut it. This was supposed to up Monday. It's Friday. Anyway, part of the reason for the delay is that I'm re-working the plot again. I have so many ideas and no way to fit them all, not to mention all the characters I want to introduce... this fic is going to be looooong.  
As for the plot question I asked you guys, I was thinking of trying to do both. So lets see how that works out.**

**UPDATING: The next few weeks will be sporadic, although I'm still aiming for Mondays. (As you can tell Mondays easily turn into Fridays) You guys can thank exams. In fact I have a test in a couple hours which I _should_ be studying for but...**

**Reviews:  
**_Guest_: Thanks for your input! I appreciate it and I totally understand losing interest due to multiple plot lines. I will be putting a pole on my profile with the option for Percy/Darcy.  
_Person_: Ok to you to!  
_ThatOneWeirdGuy_: TMI, but thanks for the review!  
_wISeGirL183_: Right now it seems tough to incorporate much spidey in the plot, but I'm trying! About spelling/grammar I try my best, but no one's perfect.  
_LittleManY2K_: Thanks!  
_Smiley83832_: Thanks so much!  
_Guest_: Thanks!  
_the open minded_: :P  
_AsDarknessSpreads_: Lol, Fairy Tail feels. I know, I was trying to show how certain scenarios in his life have changed him, but he can still be the same old Percy.  
_yetanothersilentreader_: I don't plan on abandoning it! :)  
_chaos007_: I totally understand, I feel like I'm cramming him too. Hopefully I can fix that, although I am striving for more Percy-oriented.  
_Winterlover6_: Thanks!  
_Guest_: That's what I'm going to try to do now. Thanks for the input.  
_The Twelve Olympians_: I'll put a poll on my profile. I would go with Parcy if I had to, otherwise I'd use Percy/Darcy if need be.  
_llamaprincess13_: Thanks so much!  
_Demon Hunter of artemis_: Here you go.  
_Potterthedemigod_: There will be a pole on my profile.  
_Sparky199_: Check out the pole on my profile.

* * *

**Chapter Five: As Luck Would Have It**

_November 19__th__, 2012  
11:35am  
Earth_

Jane Foster was a very busy person.

At the moment, her partner on her current S.H.I.E.L.D. "assignment" – Eric Selvig – was planning more designs on already pre-designed equipment, while she was trying to sort out some newer designs for new equipment that _wasn't _powered by the Tesseract.

Did Jane forget to mention that S.H.I.E.L.D. had hired them as additional scientists? Honestly, the only reason she had accepted the offer was for a single undoubtedly stupid reason – Thor.

Her hunk of a boyfriend hadn't visited in _forever_, and when he finally happened to be on the same _planet_ he couldn't even drop in for a minute to say _hi_. She was so upset that she kind of wasn't upset anymore, just because he _was_ off saving the world…

Ever since she took the job to find a new power source for the supposed weapons of mass-destruction S.H.I.E.L.D. planned to make, Jane had _strongly _disagreed with many different people on ten different levels. There was no way she was going to be a part of something that could cause so much _potential _harm. Upon hearing this, Fury had spoken to her personally, telling her that she could design new _defense_ mechanisms, as long as they had good offence as well. She hadn't been as opposed to that idea, considering it was meant to protect rather than destroy_._ Although, if it were up to her she would have scraped all the designs without a second thought, not to mention all the other global problems S.H.I.E.L.D. could be solving _instead _of creating.

That's why for the past few months she's been working non-stop trying to restore S.H.I.E.L.D. tech to the way it was before the disaster of New York, where she _still_ couldn't believe she _hadn't _seen _Thor_.

Therefore, with the stress of all this work, the lack of a hyperactive intern and Eric's constant rambling, she was practically _giddy_ when Darcy had texted at around 9:30 this morning, telling her that they was going out for lunch – no _buts_.

No, Jane was not sarcastic. She was genuinely excited to get out of a workplace.

Darcy was an excuse to take what Jane thought was a well-deserved break, and honestly she just missed talking to her friend as much as they used to in New Mexico. Half the time now Jane couldn't talk about S.H.I.E.L.D. at all to her, due to some confidentiality bullshit. In Jane's mind a few months ago, New York had seemed like a must in order to see Thor. Now, it was like that hangover after a night partying – you were tired, annoyed and wanted nothing less than to go back in time and change that awful decision for the extra beer. Except this time, it involved moving to New York.

Big difference.

That's also why she started to log off and clean up everything she was working on a _bit_ earlier than her allotted lunch break and practically begged Eric to cover for her. She was not going to lose this ridiculously over-paying job, especially when it involved a chance to see Thor _often_. Even if it did sometimes involve weapons of mass destruction and as many super villains as heroes… not to mention the not-so uncommon tendency to get killed on the job.

However, that wasn't on Jane's mind at the moment. The thing that was, on the other hand, was the fact that Darcy had sounded way too eccentric even for herself to talk "as soon as possible". Jane had been happy to comply, if she had a reason to go on beforehand. As if it wasn't obvious, Darcy refused most likely because she was _Darcy_ more than actually having a reason in itself, but nonetheless she somehow managed to give Jane the push that now had her buttoning up her trench coat in the surprisingly frigid New York air.

Jane was grateful for her rather heelless boots due to the fact that the diner Darcy suggested was too close for a cab but just far enough to make her sick of the outdoors in the near-winter weather. For a moment, not unlike the many other previous times, Jane had to cease her walking for a second just to stare at the building she just walked out of.

The Stark Tower was an amazing building even before the Battle of New York, (which Jane knew because of the before pictures) but even she could tell it was even more magnificent now. She rarely saw the billionaire around the crazy building he had been kind enough to practically give S.H.I.E.L.D. in the aftermath, and had no doubt in her mind he had done so with alternative motives in mind. In fact, Jane was willing to bet Tony was using Jarvis to hack every piece of intelligence he could access.

She didn't blame him, if she had the resources she would have been doing the same thing, albeit probably for different reasons.

With her thoughts still wandering the happenings of said Avenger, she started her trek towards the diner she was supposed meet Darcy at in around ten minutes. Jane was less than a block away when suddenly a reason for her to be late for lunch made itself known. She just didn't expect it to involve something _appearing _out of nowhere.

It's kind of funny that Jane automatically assumed anything "appearing" would be Thor, when in actuality it was in fact a flying car.

A _flying_ car.

Okay, it wasn't really flying and it didn't "appear". It was somehow propelled through the air _towards her_ by an external force, and Jane was almost incredulously _disappointed_ that after everything she lived through she would be killed by a projectile in the form of a car.

It would have killed her too (due to the fact that she spent her escape time _thinking_) if it weren't for the stranger that tackled her to the ground. They both went sprawling across the pavement until they had effectively missed the car by inches.

If it were any other situation Jane would have probably cursed a few inappropriate words, but just this once Jane felt grateful someone had the courage to save others in the face of danger. Especially when the danger was a direct factor to her own demise.

Said car proceeded to crash across the street into a classic yellow cab, sending both vehicles barelling into the front windows of a store. There wasn't a resulting explosion (like everyone expected in the movies), but Jane felt the screams of the people around her was alarm enough. It was also these screams that made Jane realised she had shut her eyes when the cars crashed, only to open them to see the bright green eyes of the figure that had saved her. He was also shielding her from debris that had cascaded outwards from the crash.

He proceeded to right himself as well as run a hand through his black hair, shaking out little pieces of pavement that rested there, a reassuring smile upon his face as if to communicate that they were _not_ dead. Jane was too distracted by the _thing_ behind him to even attempt to grab his hand when he offered it. In fact she was shocked she couldn't even appreciate the full-extent of the gesture this person had committed to save someone they didn't even know.

The male in front of her managed to understand her disbelief for what it was, rather than a dismissal, as he retracted his hand only to reach for something is his pocket.

Jane continued to gape at the massive creature bounding on all fours towards them, its coat of black fur reminding her of a dog. An overly-large _dangerous_ red-eyed dog. In reality, she would have probably been paralyzed like that if it weren't for the sudden gleaming object that (_also_) appeared in the hand of the male.

Of all things, a _sword_ was what snapped Jane's attention back into focus as she scrambled away, eyes lit with new fear. The man glanced at her and back towards the object in his hand, curious understanding lighting his features as he sighed in what seemed like exasperation.

He turned away from her defenseless form without a second thought, adjusting his stance and grip on the one-handed sword to face the oncoming threat. Jane almost raised an eyebrow at the act of suicidal behaviour he displayed (even if he did have a sword) until she saw him _use _it.

As the red-eyed beast was mere feet away, her saviour shifted his body as he guided the sword across the creature's front legs. The edge of the weapon pierced through what Jane guessed was flesh and bone as if it were water, the severed limbs disappearing into golden dust as the monster fumbled against collapsing.

Almost as if she were watching a stage show rather than real life, the male spun and buried the sword into one of the beast's glowing red eyes, using its forward momentum against it as it embedded the weapon hilt deep. The dog-like creature roared in pain, its massive body thrashing violently in attempts to rid the sword.

The man, without releasing his grip on the sword, jumped atop the beast's back, pushing the sword downwards as he did so. The hound's head slammed into the pavement, a crater of cracks erupting from the force. The male proceeded to pull his blade from the creature's face, causing the hound to jerk violently as he crouched upon its back, and with a swift movement he brought his sword in an arc across the beast's neck. The sword cleanly severed its head as the body exploded into a shower of more dust, leaving the man standing covered in what seemed like a layer of sparkling sand.

Jane was still seated at the edge of the road as she hadn't dared move during the entire ordeal. People were all staring at the man in front of her, in fact a police officer had unholstered his gun and pointed it towards her saviour.

She looked at the officer in disbelief as he declared, "Drop the gun!" to the male who was _clearly _holding a sword and _not_ a gun. The man however, didn't seem surprised in the slightest, and actually caught her eye in the midst of this ordeal. She knew that by the way he looked at her that somehow she was not reacting this situation correctly.

It was also that very second the police officer pulled the safety of his gun, in what seemed like preparation to fire as the sword-wielding man didn't drop his "gun". With practical inhuman speed said male bounded towards the officer, disarming him with a few quick movements until he held a sword and a gun.

He looked at the weapon in slight disgust as he pulled the clip of bullets out of the gun – emptying it – and dropped the gun as whole onto the ground before crashing a metal-platted boot onto it.

The officer was cradling an injured hand in disbelief as he watched the man walk away. Jane was dumbfounded when the man's sword seemed to vanish into thin air as he pocketed something. Furthermore, instead immediately fleeing the scene as one would expect – he advanced once more towards Jane and offered her a hand as if to apologize for saving her life as well as helping her up.

Without hesitation, Jane accepted the help and once she was once again sure-footed he turned around and began walking down the street as if nothing happened. She practically gaped at the casualness of his behaviour.

_Who was this guy?_

Jane had two decisions to decide from in this split second. She could casually continue to lunch as if nothing happened, or pursue answers from this person. Her answer was obvious. She would have to apologize to Darcy another time.

She steeled a look at everyone around her, and for the most part people seemed to just not care anymore. The police officer looked slightly disoriented, as if he had just forgotten what had happened. In fact, everyone looking towards the man seemed dazed and confused before snapping themselves out of it and proceeding to do whatever they were doing prior to this calamity.

Jane, now incredibly curious for answers, did not waste time catching up to the male whom was still walking casually down the street. When she caught up to him, she was incredibly surprised to hear him speak first.

"What's the chance of encountering _two_ clear-sighted in _two _days? Honestly," He stopped walking so abruptly that Jane had to spin-around to look at him, "It would be best if you simply forgot this every happened. Everyone else has," he said casually as he pointed a thumb behind him to the dazed people.

Jane, practically thunderstruck at the statement was at an almost loss for words. Instead she managed to choke out a, "What?" As if that conveyed her frustration about everything he just said.

Apparently it did, as the male resumed walking as he ran a hand through his hair, most likely to clear the golden substance that the _thing_ had dissipated into.

"Ok, I know you're going to have questions like what was that dog-thing – a hellhound if you must know – and why I had a sword – that one's not so easy to answer – and the obvious who they hell am I. Did I get it all?" He said calmly as they continued to walk wherever this man was headed.

Jane had way more questions than that, but she supposed that covered the main ones. Not to mention the fact where he said the beast that attacked was a hellhound, and she didn't even know what that was – wait. She had heard of hellhounds, albeit not from any notable sources. She had read the name in a mythology book when they had been researching Thor.

Was this guy from Asgard? Did Thor send him to protect her? Jane knew she was getting ahead of herself but right now, as strange as it sounded, it seemed like the only logical answer. Not to mention the fact that when she looked at him, _really_ looked at him, he seemed battle-worn in a way that she had only seen from the other Asgardians that had helped out in New Mexico. Not to mention the fact he knew how to wield a _sword_ which hadn't been a practical combat weapon for centuries on Earth.

She also didn't know if she should outright ask him, but her curiosity overruled her doubt.

"Are you from Asgard?"

He had been looking ahead as he was walking, but apparently the question caught his attention enough to make him shift his gaze downwards to meet her eyes, probably to figure out if she was being serious.

"What, like that Thor guy with the hammer? Sure, let's go with that," he sounded confused at his own response, but confidence replaced it so quickly that Jane felt confuddled to the point where she didn't know whether or not to believe him.

The walked for a few more silence filled seconds, before the man started to seem genuinely confused at why she was still accompanying him.

"So, um, what are you still doing here? You looked like you had someplace to go, er, before almost dying by flying car." The statement was said with a quite bit of humour towards the end and suddenly Jane realised he _couldn't_ be from Asgard for one simple reason.

He didn't talk like he was from the medieval times.

"Who are you? _What_ are you, if that's more appropriate?" She said as she regained her composure, determined to figure out what other kind of person (alien?) out there would be wielding a sword in the streets of New York to kill a hellhound.

That's how Jane realised her life was messed up. She considered multiple _plausible_ reasons for there to be a man wielding a sword in the streets of New York in order to kill hellhounds.

The male looked at her dumbly for a second, as if genuinely contemplating the question. She just didn't know whether he was contemplating a plausible lie or an honest truth that involved a _what_.

"I'm a 'who', for your information. Although sometimes the line does blur, but forget I said that. If you're as inclined to my identity-" He stopped mid-sentence as they reached the apparent destination.

Jane didn't understand why he would go to a bar in the middle of the day, until she noticed the lone black motorcycle in the parking lot. He hurried his pace towards it, snatching the keys from his pocket.

That's when she realised that this was the last time she was going to question this man. Quickly Jane rushed once more towards him, determined to learn anything more.

Just as he was prepared to drive away, he noticed Jane's ever-still-lingering presence. He sighed almost in-audibly as she was about to ask another question and started the engine.

"Look, um, there was this barmaid on shift last night – actually this morning – at this bar. Ask her, she seemed to have a plausible explanation." He yelled over the noise as Jane was left in the dust as the bike roared to life out of the parking lot.

Thunderstruck as she was, she glanced the sign on top of the bar with a start. This very bar was the bar Darcy worked at. In fact, Jane was almost certain her former intern worked the late night/early morning shift.

Darcy somehow knew who this man was.

_Darcy_ of all people.

Numbly Jane reached for her phone and called her best friend.

"I'm running a bit late. I'll be right there."


	6. Of Commonalities

**I'm SORRY! Life and school got in the way of posting :( but at least I warned you guys... kinda. I have a few important things to say so listen up:  
\- UPDATING WILL NOW OCCUR ONCE EVERY TWO WEEKS. This way it's easier for me to stay to schedule.  
\- THIS IS THE LAST CHAPTER THAT I'M ANSWERING EVER SINGLE REVIEW DUE TO RESPONSE. I appreciate every single word written and I hope you guys know it means a ton! Just from now on I will only answer you if you direct a statement and or question to me due to volume.  
\- CHECK OUT THE POLL ON MY PROFILE! It's important to the plot!  
\- As you guys already know from the description, this story is based of coincidences. This means the plot is basically built from scratch and to make it realistic-ish is difficult. As such, this fic may seem random but there IS an overall plot. **

**_Reviews_**:  
_Sparky199_: Well here's what's happening...  
_Guest_: Thanks for the input!  
_yetanothersilentreader_: Are you the guest above? If so thanks for reviewing twice!  
_Winterlover6_: I don't either honestly... I just write...  
_Guest_: Thanks so much!  
_Guest_: Am I? I never really thought so :P Thanks!  
_chaos007_: Thanks and curiously when I first wrote it that's what came to my mind too! (Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. is awesome, just finished season one)  
_llamaprincess13_: Thanks so much! :D  
_the typewrited_: Don't worry everything is gonna to collapse together eventually... and I MEAN EVENTUALLY  
_Guest_: Thanks :) I will try  
_AsDarknessSpreads_: Well it was a dramatic moment... :P  
_Karinamoreno2000_: Thanks! I know its been a while since the last update and I'm sorry.  
_LittleManY2K_: Thanks :D  
_Guest_: Oh no! I hope you haven't perished yet! Or else you won't get to read this update! :P  
_Thiltelles_: Thanks! Don't worry I'm a sucker for badass Percy... ;)  
_aviendhaphiragon_: Oh my indeed! A review! :P  
_rockstar01121_: Yep, sorry about the communication. I believe I specified Jane was aware of the hours Darcy worked and therefore came to the conclusion of Darcy being the person Percy was referencing.  
_forever-a-fanchic_: And I LOVE your penname! xD  
_rocky_: Interesting! Perhaps that would work in a different scenario but Percy is not a teenager in this fic. I like your idea though and maybe I can incorporate that train of thought somewhere.

* * *

**Chapter Six – Of Commonalities **

_November 19__th__, 2012  
12:12pm  
Earth_

Steve Rogers was enjoying the late autumn weather.

To the common passerby on the street, he may seem somewhat odd considering that he was sitting in an outdoor café with the brisk wind being as it were. The waitress, however, was as pleasant as usual and for once he was not the only one enjoying what some might consider cold weather.

Somewhat hypocritically, Steve had thought it was strange for another person to seat themselves outdoors alongside him, but he hadn't an argument against it. This was New York, where he learned weird people were abundant and that he himself had no place to judge them and their lifestyle.

Steve also admired the stranger's motorcycle.

It may have also been considered unusual that he would be so upfront about talking to someone about something so mundane in a life like his, but he enjoyed the simplicity such topics brought him. Therefore, just this once, he threw caution to the wind and started conversing with a stranger. He supposed this meant his people skills were improving after seventy long ice-ridden years.

"Nice bike," Steve stated in a somewhat awkward manor, unsure if the dismounting male had heard him at all. The figure turned towards him with a start, as if expecting some sort of attack and Steve couldn't help but relate. Smiling when the stranger finally identified his presence, he gestured for the man to sit alongside him for what he hoped would be an interesting conversation.

Steve couldn't help but notice the way the male fiddled with his helmet as he took it off, in what may have been anxiety as he glanced towards him questioningly. Steve assumed this stranger was as unskilled at social interaction as he was or was expecting something that perhaps Steve didn't want to contemplate. Finally the man placed his helmet with care atop his motorcycle and decided to walk over.

The stranger eyed him skeptically as he joined Steve at the table. Something immediately made him feel incredibly uneasy. Steve didn't know whether it was the way the stranger's eyes seemed to challenge his own or if it was the way he held his posture. Whatever it was, it was making for a very odd situation and Steve was already starting to regret his choice of attempted friendliness in a city like Manhattan.

It wasn't until the man finally seemed to relax slightly in his presence that Steve understood the body language that he had originally mistaken for some sort of contempt. In honesty he was almost positive it was in fact the opposite – a way of caution.

_This man carries himself like a warrior. _

Immediately Steve started to sympathize with the man, knowing too well of the cruelties of battle and the scars it left on one's mind. He was also curious as if he should inquire to such a topic of conversation, although since he was feeling uncertain he went for his initial reason for addressing the man.

"What year is it – the motorcycle?" Steve asked in a gauche mid-sentence reconstruction of the question.

The black-haired male sitting across from him looked almost surprised at the common aspect of the conversation before replying, "_Captain America_ is talking to me about my bike," he paused as he raised an eyebrow in disbelief, "_Wow_, okay – it's a 2010 Nightster, saved up for it since I was seventeen."

Steve didn't know why he didn't expect it. He supposed he should have assumed part of the male's reluctance to sit with him might have been because he was a _superhero_ from the forties. Even so, Steve was still incredibly curious as to what would cause a twenty-something year old to beware the world as if death were lurking in his own shadow, despite the carefree manner he attempted to mask it with.

"Excuse my manners, Steve Rogers," said Captain introduced himself as he raised his palm in a welcoming gesture.

The man sitting across from his sustained a grin before introducing himself in equal formality, his eyes betraying the authenticity of a once trouble-free nature, "Percy Jackson."

Steve knew he shouldn't attempt to pry people open after only just meeting them, but his instincts were telling him that something was different about Percy, something more than his battle-worn physique. He wasn't criticizing him, Steve knew only men with honour could show that much genuine honesty in a circumstantial greeting, not to mention the fact that only men who've seen war could carry themselves the way Percy did.

Curiousity was usually not Steve's predominant factor for displaying any interest of information, but Steve couldn't help it this time. He wanted to know more of this man, even if only the slightest details of battles he may have missed. A keen eye showed him that Percy was still experiencing the trauma from combat, the way his fingers twitched in expectation, the ways his eyes surveyed his surroundings and how Steve could tell Percy was ready to spring from his seat at any moment if the situation required it.

"I hope I'm not imposing, but its nice meeting someone with good taste in transportation. Have a drink," Steve said it what may have sounded like slightly forced enthusiasm.

With a hesitant look, Percy nodded in response as if still trying to comprehend that he was about to share a drink with _the_ Captain America. Steve beckoned the waitress over and they both ordered a couple cups of coffee.

"So, uh, how's the superhero gig going?" Percy asked during the irregular silence, his hands playing with a ballpoint pen he had retrieved from his pocket.

Steve grinned despite the morbid reality of what had recently occurred in his "superhero" life. "I've been keeping busy," he stated simply, unwilling to expand on what Percy probably already knew. There was also the problem of his inability to reveal plenty of what happened due to S.H.I.E.L.D. confidentiality.

Percy looked around the empty outdoor café in mock consideration, "Can't argue with you there."

Steve didn't know whether or not he was sarcastic, although even if he were Steve couldn't blame him. It took a lot to wear a smile in Manhattan these days, and in a sad bout of side-thought Steve considered that maybe Percy had been one of the unlucky people caught in the streets a few months ago. With another burst of realization, Steve realized for all he knew Percy might have possibly lost someone dear that day in the catastrophe.

The waitress reappeared that moment with their order, setting down the cups and other additives on the table. Steve couldn't help but notice the way Percy drank his coffee black, and with a start Steve understood why he liked Percy so much in their short encounter.

A brotherly instinct overwhelmed Steve. It was unconventional, but Percy reminded him in the slightest of his deceased friend Bucky – a warrior underneath the heart-warming persona – a man who saw too much and died too young. Guilt crept up in Steve's throat so suddenly the smile dropped from his face as the memories of his best friend resurfaced.

Steve wasn't usually one for sentiments, especially during awkward discussions, but he couldn't help but consider the similarities between the two men filtering through his thoughts. Grasping his cup of coffee tightly in his fist, Steve was overcome with a strong need to look out for Percy, to protect those who saw the world for what it was and still manage to stay kind hearted.

It was also incredibly peculiar, considering they only managed to exchange a handful of words. But, as far as Steve was concerned – he trusted his insight on those around him. It had never been wrong. He had also trusted his sense of justice, especially when identifying that justice in others. Steve knew Percy was an anomaly of a man, no matter what he experienced.

Without realizing, he had been so immersed in thought that he managed to shatter the glazed ceramic in his fist, spreading coffee throughout the expanse of the table. Percy jumped up in shock, although not before Steve thought his senses had for once deceived him.

Before he had a chance to contemplate what he may or may not have seen, the waitress came rushing over with a towel draped across her arm. She started cleaning the mess before the liquid dripped to the floor, apologizing profusely for what Steve knew wasn't at all her fault, but he was too in shock to deny her apologies.

Percy had steeled his gaze towards the broken ceramic, curiousity adorning his features in plain sight. It was a look Steve recognized all too well, one of unsureness and calculation, a look that told Steve he might lose whatever trust he had gained from Percy. Percy was a veteran with interesting stories like himself Steve had no doubt, but if what he just saw had actually occurred than he _definitely_ wanted to get to know the guy for more than that reason.

In a bizarre chuckle, Steve attempted to play off the incident for everything it was – an accident – even when Percy's eyes displayed an emotion akin to censure. Steve knew he had less than a minute to convince Percy he was not a threat and that this interaction would be a precursor to many others.

"Look, I should go… It was nice meeting you, Steve," Percy declared abruptly in the midst of the organized chaos much to Steve's dismay.

"Wait – wait a minute, maybe, I don't know maybe we could hang out some other time?" Steve said in his most embarrassing and graceless action yet.

Percy raised yet another eyebrow and grasped the pen he had once more placed in his pocket. Quickly uncapping and recapping the lid on the back of the pen in what looked like a single movement, he grasped a nearby dry napkin and scribbled down a few numbers.

"That's my cell, if you ever want to get a hold of me. After all, it isn't everyday _Captain America_ asks for your number," Percy winked in a playful manner before stowing the pen back in his pocket and walking back towards his bike. Percy slipped on his helmet and within seconds he was seated on his bike and on the road, leaving Steve to his confusion.

Steve was dumbfounded. It wasn't even because Percy had _teased_ him in way that managed to humiliate him further. It also wasn't because the waitress couldn't help but stifle a laugh at the interaction as she continue cleaning the mess.

No, Steve was dumbfounded because he realized he had no means as well as no experience with _modern_ technology. Even more mortifying, Steve now had to ask the ever-so-infallible _Tony Stark _to educate him on the use of a _cell phone_.

Vaguely Steve processed the waitress leaving him to his thoughts once the mess was cleaned up, allowing him to grasp the napkin in a not-so-subtle way. Before he stuffed it into his pocket he couldn't help but contemplate the shininess of the ink from the pen, which shone like bronze across the white material.

Placing a few bills on the table, very well aware he was leaving a tip sizable enough to be considered _more_ than generous, he strode towards where his own bike and helmet lie before suiting up and taking to the street. The hum of his motorcycle did nothing to quench the unease he felt, and only when he reached the Stark Tower did he realize why.

Much to Steve's technological ignorance, he was only partially aware that Percy was about to be cyber-hacked by a genius billionaire playboy philanthropist.

•**ψ•Ω•ψ•**

Peter Parker was having a very weird day.

Even for him this day was in fact weird enough to be considered _weird_. He didn't even know where to start, but he was pretty sure he knew what topped the list.

A chick with red hair was stalking him.

At least it seemed that way. Peter felt as if every time he entered a building, every time he turned a corner – he saw a flash of red hair, and if he was lucky a glimpse of a pair of black sun glasses.

Since the first hour he noticed and he's been trying _everything_ to remain inconspicuous while determining who (potentially _what_) was following him and why. No one could have figured out his true identity – right?

At this point Peter was wondering if that was just wishful thinking.

After all, what other reason would any other girl attempt to tail him – as it currently seemed – during his boring errand influenced activities, courtesy of Aunt May. He wouldn't even tail himself, that's how boring it was.

Even though he managed to figure all that out, he was still at a loss on how to confront the women tailing him without doing something stupid. At this point Peter knew there was like a one percent chance of him being smart about this. He was frustrated and he really didn't want to deal with anyone who might know he's Spider-man.

That said, he couldn't help but be incredibly curious if they _had_ found out, in terms of the _how._ He himself made sure to hack into any Oscorp footage that may have caught his mask-less face on tape while fighting the Lizard, and he was positive there were no witnesses during his fight with Electro and Harry – and _Gwen's death_.

He choked on the emotions that once again welled up inside him at thought and barely prevented himself from hitting something in his now growing frustration. Peter was angry with everything – angry at himself, angry at Harry, angry at Oscorp, angry at the red-haired mystery girl who refused to go away and angry at the pointless life he was now living.

He had given up on all his scholarship ambitions in terms of schooling, kept the crappy photography job from J. Jonah Jameson as well as his daily superhero routine. Even that was becoming increasingly needless since the _Avengers_ appeared out of nowhere, a team of _very super_ superheroes to fight a _very alien_ god-person in the middle of Manhattan. Why not?

Honestly, Peter was so wrapped up in his own problems at the time – his father, Electro, Harry, Gwen – he missed the alien invasion that just so happened to have occurred the very day of Gwen's death. Seems like the universe really just decide to fuck everyone up just because it felt like it.

That's right – he also remembered he was angry at the universe.

His mind was so wrapped up in his mental rant that he practically walked right into a busy intersection when he hadn't noticed the walkway indicated "stop".

_Spidey-sense taking a vacation?_ Peter though grumpily as he shuffled along with the others by his side for the signal to change once again to "proceed". A smaller portion of his mind knew grumbling to himself would change anything, especially the fact that he was being followed, so immediately he attempted to clear his head.

Peter needed a plan.

If Gwen were here, she would have been able to spin something together in a heartbeat while tying all the loose ends into a nice little bow. Grimacing on how his trail of thought constantly managed to drift to Gwen, he started to contemplate a way to corner the woman tailing him.

He could attempt to pull the classic "dark alleyway confrontation" whereas he would abruptly head down an alley and then on confront his pursuer. Then again, it was incredibly cliché and Peter wasn't all too sure he could pull it off. He needed a distraction. Something that would cause him to lose the woman and then he could potential reverse the situation and figure out _something_. He was even _less_ sure of this plan. He supposed the distraction bit could still be useful, more as to catch the red-haired wonder off guard in order to guarantee an escape. Now his only problem was locating an effective distraction.

_Where was the classic burning building, robbery or police car chase when you needed one?_ Thought Peter in annoyance.

He needed _anything_ that would allow him to get out of sight long enough for him to make a trademark spidey-escape using the sky and the ever-so-clustered Manhattan city structure.

He abruptly turned the next corner seemingly off guard, shoving through the people on the street. For now he had the lead and a broken line of sight – but it wasn't enough, he needed something else…

_Bam!_

Honestly, Peter should have predicted he'd topple into someone. Thing is, he didn't expect to be the one thrown back by the force while said person remained unaffected and upright.

Randomly during this millisecond, Peter contemplated on how he didn't believe in chance or coincidence or anything of the sort, but if he did – he would have blamed every ounce of it on this particular moment. After all, he had to be seriously lucky (or unlucky in this case) to do what he just did.

The red-haired woman was completely forgotten in his sprawl of thoughts, despite the fact that he was now in a disgruntled heap on the rather dirty sidewalk, each second passing shortening the distance between them.

Peter wasn't even focused on escaping anymore. He was too shocked to do anything but sit there like a fan boy, because that's exactly what he was to the person standing in front of him.

Then again, who could have predicted he'd barrel right into _Captain America_ in front of the _Stark Tower_.

What were the _fucking_ odds of that?


	7. Thank You Google

**Look who's back after my new two week deadline! *No one cares out your author's notes* *sigh* Well, if any of you are curious enough to read whatever I write up here, I'll give you Marvel fans some amazing news.**

**SPIDER-MAN HAS JOINED THE MCU AND WILL BE FEATURED BY 2017!  
**

**I don't know any of the details, but it is true, so hallelujah! (Did I spell that right?) This is chapter was fun to write so hopefully I kept it as umm _logical_ as possible, yeah... and if any of you are like me, you must have been looking forward to reading this. (Did anybody see Big Hero 6? I watched it a couple days ago and oh my god it was absolutely amazing and I'm going to shut up now so you people can read.)  
**

**If anyone wants an answer to a review, lemme know in that review! I can PM with longer responses if that's more preferable. Don't forget about the poll on my profile!**

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**Chapter 7: Thank you Google**

_November 19__th__, 2012  
12:34pm  
Earth_

Darcy Lewis was currently astounded.

"Hold on," she said through a mouthful of her cheeseburger, "are you telling me," she hastily swallowed her food as she looked her best friend straight in the eye.

"You _met_ Percy?"

Darcy couldn't believe it. She honestly couldn't. Was Jane actually talking about the raven-haired, green-eyed, scar-ridden, sword-wielding S.H.I.E.L.D. agent whom she herself had just so managed to spend the night – uh, morning – with?

Jane seemed slightly more composed, the only indication as to otherwise be it in the fierce way her hand gripped her cup of coffee.

"Yes, but that's not the point," she began with a slight tone of impatience, even urgency, "the point is – there's something _odd_ about him," Jane emphasized for what seemed to Darcy like the twentieth time. Since they both sat down for lunch, they had their stories of the previous hours to tell. Even now, after half an hour, Darcy were still trying to wrap her mind around the sequence of events.

Darcy also knew Jane was exhausted with her own disbelief by now, furthermore by the numerous questions she was expatiating. Despite that she found she couldn't care less, not when she was this curious as to how this stranger kept popping up in their lives, regardless whether he was a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent or not. Not counting that she didn't exactly _mind _the supposed S.H.I.E.L.D. agent's presence, even if she wasn't about to reveal that to Jane yet.

Jane raised an eyebrow at the opposing female's rather carefree attitude, "I know that look!" Jane exclaimed frantically, "the guys uses a _sword_, Darcy! _A sword! _And you're giving him _googly eyes!_"

Darcy, instead of replying, took another humongous bite out of her cheeseburger and chewed slowly to give herself time to come up with a denial. "You _did_ look at him right?" she said as she raised a skeptical eyebrow in doubt, "But I guess when you've had a _fling_ with _the _God of Thunder–" Jane scoffed in a very uncivilized manner, interrupting Darcy mid-sentence. Pretending not to hear the intrusion, she continued, "–nothing compares. Not to mention you said Percy actually _saved your life!_"

Jane looked ready to retort until those final three words were stated, causing her to stammer in an attempt to regain her pride.

"You – you _know_ Thor wasn't a fling! He's busy, other planets, Asgardian stuff," Jane elaborated in a rather butchered attempt to change her best friend's opinion, "I also never said I thought your new crush–" at this particular moment in time Darcy choked on a French fry, "–was a bad person," Jane spoke strongly, new-found confidence giving her the fuel she needed as she continued, "but that _doesn't_ mean I believe he's a SHIELD agent. I _work_ with them. I know how they act. But your mystery guy, he was nothing like them. I was _grilling_ him out there – hell I even asked him if he was _Asgardian_–" Darcy whom had been intently listening while drinking her coke in order to dislodge the French fry, spit the beverage out in hilarity at that particular statement.

Swiping a napkin to dry her face and the table, Darcy contain help but let out a laugh, forgetting the unspoken tension between them, "You did _what?_"

Jane jumped at the outburst, clearly not expecting it, and proceeded to quickly defend herself, "He used a _sword_ to do_ something_ to a mythological _beast_ – I mean Thor uses a hammer and the Asgardians are _warriors_ so I just assumed–" her ramble was cut-off by Darcy's snort of disbelief.

"Oh yeah sure, because an _Asgardian_ would be walking around New York, not creating a spectacle and not talking _ye 'old English_."

Jane sat there, shaking her head at the absurdity of the statement to spout from her former intern's mouth. Darcy smirked triumphantly as Jane let the argument sink in. However, she wasn't going to back off yet, "I realized that almost immediately after I asked the question, but wouldn't he have admitted to being a SHIELD agent if he actually was one? _Especially_ since I work with SHIELD? I mean there's the possibility he didn't know me – shouldn't he have shown even a civilian a badge or something? It didn't even occur to me that he could be a SHIELD agent, he wasn't even wearing a suit," Darcy raised an eyebrow at this particular point, "aside from the fact he told me to talk to _you_ to get answers." Jane stopped her ramble with a deep breath, preparing to state her last point.

"Did he tell _you_ he was a SHIELD agent? Did he show _you_ a badge? And why don't explain to me again how you ended up spending the _night_ at a _sword-wielding stranger's apartment?_"

Darcy sat there, mouth agape for a noticeable timespan of silence before finding her voice, "I told you already," she huffed in annoyance, "this morning, just before my shift at the bar ended some _thing_ appeared and he killed it," At Jane's rather skeptical expression Darcy re-specified, "Yes, with the sword. But, he _did _just drank like a _bottle _of vodka so I couldn't just let him drive when he potentially _saved my life_–" She abruptly stopped her sentence as if she had forgotten what she was going to say.

Jane face-palmed in a very un-Jane-like way before sighing, "So you drove him home and stayed there – yes, yes, you told me. Did it occur to you that if he was right-minded enough to – to _dispatch _a monster that he would be well and able to drive himself home?"

Darcy didn't miss a beat, "It's illegal!"

"And when have you cared so much about the law?" Jane held up her finger at Darcy's retort, preventing what would be a spout about political science, "Besides the fact that you somehow _don't_ think brandishing a _sword_ in a bar to kill a _thing_ is illegal."

Darcy swallowed whatever reply she had thought of and sat there, sipping her seemingly bottomless bottle of coke. After a moment without interruption on Darcy's part, Jane continued with her verbal assault.

"I'm not even going to start discussing your poor life choices, although I guarantee you I will get back to it. For now, we have to get to the bottom of _this_. I mean this _guy_ just so happens to run into _both_ of us on the same day, supposedly acting like a hero? Doesn't that seem slightly fishy to you?"

Darcy chewed on her straw in thought, "I mean, maybe, he seemed like a nice enough person for the most part – I didn't get any evil vibes from him," her eyes betrayed her uncertainty.

"Look I agree that I don't think he's evil, or at least the evil we're thinking of. If he was he wouldn't have saved us. Even if he is SHIELD agent – which I highly doubt – they aren't all good people either, they _kill_. Worst case scenario he's another anomaly that even SHIELD may not be aware of, and I can't believe I'm saying this but it's up to us to tell them." Jane looked slightly resentful, as if the idea didn't completely sit with her sense of righteousness.

Darcy honestly didn't think Percy was all that bad, even if she supposed her opinion could be slightly biased since she was a sucker for his impossibly green eyes. Sure, he'd been cold at first, in the unfriendly sense a stranger is towards another stranger in Manhattan, but he'd seemed way too genuine to be a threat. She also knew Jane understood that much, having spent time with him herself. But Jane also never went to his apartment. It was lonely for what seemed like a light-hearted person, didn't see the photograph of smiling children.

Should they expose him to S.H.I.E.L.D. on the chance he wasn't one of them?

Darcy didn't get to dwell on these thoughts long, it seemed her former employer was onto something, "Do you think it's possible he's the reason why those monsters attacked? I mean, I haven't heard of anything like this happening before, like actual mythological monsters attacking people on Earth. And even if there was, don't you think SHIELD would have looked into it?" Speculated Jane, thinking aloud in the way Darcy knew she always did when she thought she solved something.

"Maybe they are, maybe _Percy_ is," Darcy answered Jane's rhetorical question as if it were some sort of epiphany, only to fade off into uncertainty, "If he is a SHIELD agent."

Jane continued as if she hadn't heard Darcy, "Asgard's another story, and this Percy guy seemed too shocked to be compared to Thor to be from there." Jane paused for a few lengthy moments, "That's it! Thor said there are _nine_ realms right? One being Midgard – Earth," Jane clarified at Darcy's confused expression, "and another been Asgard – so what if he's from another realm?"

Darcy's eyes nearly popped out of her skull in disbelief, "You think he's an _alien_? He's way too _normal_ for that, and that's saying something," she exclaimed, incredulity written all over her features.

"I don't see you with any bright ideas," Jane grumbled in a tone very unlike herself. She seemed stumped of all ideas.

"Yes, but I also saw a picture from his childhood. If he was an alien he's lived on Earth for _years_. Don't you think someone – SHIELD. – would have noticed?" Darcy countered.

Jane had nothing else to say it seemed, but she was also right – Darcy didn't have a single idea. There was barely any chance that her original thought of Percy being a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent was correct. She glanced outside the window of the booth they were sitting at, enjoying the cluttered view of New Yorkers bustling about their everyday lives, without a care in the world for the threats organizations like S.H.I.E.L.D. protected them from. Honestly, she barely knew anything more than what the common civilian could figure out, but having gotten to know one the Avengers, having been involved in something greater than herself once had been invigorating and terrifying. Percy had reminded her of that and for once in her life, Darcy didn't believe all she had to define herself was her "political science major" title.

Lost in thought, she glanced vaguely at the passerby until a boy, probably around ten, caught her eye. He was smiling in the chilly weather, beaming to his mother as he gestured towards items in a storefront window. Eyeing the window in mild curiosity Darcy almost spilt her remaining coke in recognition.

"Jane," she said, eyes wide in sudden realization, "what if he's like one of those good guys, one of those non-SHIELD-certified heroes like Spider-Man? He's obviously not as well-known but there are so many out there…" Darcy trailed off, unsure where she was headed with her statement.

"Mutants," Jane whispered almost inaudibly.

Comprehension dawned on Darcy's face, "Do you think?"

"It's possible. It seems the most likely out of anything we could come up with, really, without asking the guy," Jane stated in a faraway tone, "Although that wouldn't explain the sword. What should we do?"

They both sat in silence, Darcy finishing the rest of her fries, Jane sipping her still half-full lukewarm coffee.

"So what did he tell you?" Darcy suddenly asked as she swallowed a ketchup-clad French fry.

"What do you mean?"

"Like, about him, about what happened when you confronted him. Did he say anything, I don't know, memorable?" Darcy inquired further.

"I don't really think – wait a minute, he told me the creature that almost killed me was a hellhound. That's the main reason why I thought he was Asgardian – I've only ever heard of beasts' like that in folklore…" Jane trailed off, returning her thoughts to her head.

"Earth to Jane? Hello?" Darcy waved her had in front of her friend's face.

Jane blinked a couple times, "Sorry, it's just I'm trying to remember where exactly I remembered hearing about them–"

Darcy cut off the rest of the sentence with one of her own, "We got phones. We live in the modern era. Free wifi? Any of that ring a bell?" Darcy chuckled as she pulled out her own electronic device before Googling the term _hellhound_. Being Darcy, she picked Wikipedia as the reliable source of information, scrolling to the folklore that contained the beast.

"Okay, it says here that the most common known hellhound is _Cerberus_ – isn't that the three-headed dog? Did the one that attacked you have three heads?" Jane gestured back to the phone in slight impatience, telling Darcy to get to the point.

"Ah, here we go, _Cerberus _is from Greek Mythology. Did that answer your question?" Asked Darcy smugly, silently giving herself a point for outsmarting Jane, if it could even be considered that.

Jane looked intently into her relatively cold coffee, "If Norse Mythology was somewhat real does that make all mythology somewhat real? Including Greek?" She questioned seemingly to herself.

"For that to work wouldn't there be some sort of paradox? Different gods and all that theory and speculation. If what you're saying is true it would be basically impossible to distinguish truth from actual myths," Darcy stated rather intelligently if she said so herself – which she did.

"Well, Thor is real and so are hellhounds," Jane stated matter-of-factly, "and it seems like it's up to us to figure out the mystery of Per–"

"I just thought of something," stated Darcy in a rush, without letting Jane finish, before furiously typing the keywords _greek mythology gods who use swords_ into the search engine. After waiting a painful millisecond, the results popped up. Darcy gasped in surprise.

Jane looked over onto the phone from across the table, her train of thought completely forgotten as she tilted her head in an attempt to read the results. In a fluid motion Darcy flipped the phone around to show one of the top results.

"Who would have thought?" Jane murmured in astonishment.

"So I'm not the only one thinking it," Darcy sighed in relief, "It can't be a coincidence, no way, not after all of this."

"Would it really be a surprise for a mythological Greek hero to be alive? I mean after _everything_ that's happened," Jane played with her coffee mug anxiously, feeling as though they had finally reached a solid conclusion.

"Perseus," Darcy breathed in admiration, "Wasn't he like one of the only Greek heroes in mythology that didn't die a painful death? I mean it explains the sword _and_ the hellhound _and_ the name – Percy! Is it really that obvious?"

"You know, he gave us all the clues. It's almost as if he wanted us to figure it out. I still feel like we're missing something. In Norse mythology they were called Gods, but they just live really long. Greek Mythology had Gods too, didn't they? What does that mean?" Jane went off on a tangent in an attempt to unravel more of this mystery.

Darcy once again relied on her phone and delved further into the _Perseus_ wiki page she stumbled onto, "Do you think Greek Gods are people who live really long too? I thought there was only like twelve of them or something," Darcy questioned as she skimmed lightly throughout the various areas of the wiki for clues. In the end she just ended up reading the basic summary.

"It says here Perseus is half-god, half-human – the son of Zeus. Isn't that the one that ruled the skies?"

"What could it possibly mean to be half-god if they weren't Gods?" Jane pondered before snapping her attention back into focus, "That reminds me. I can't believe I didn't notice it before. I had asked him who or what he was." Darcy looked confused at Jane's assured expression.

"And what did he say?"

"He said he was a "who", _but_ that the line sometimes blurred! Darcy, _everything fits_. Of course the line would blur if he were 'half-god' or whatever it means outside of the actual mythology. _We figured it out!_

"So what are we going to do now?" Jane questioned softly, their success having not solved the problem of what they should do next. "Should we go to S.H.I.E.L.D.? Wait until Thor comes back to ask him – he might know something? I bet if I asked Pepper she would find a way to get Tony to research anything he could find on the guy."

A smile crept onto Darcy' features, "I have a car and his address. I say we confront him about it."


	8. Identity Crisis

**I feel like I always do this, but I'm sorry, again. I don't even know how the time passed. It doesn't help that this week was just March Break, where contrary to the "break" implication I was incredibly busy. (Skiing at Big White in BC if any of you must know) There was also the fact that this chapter had like 1000 words done right at the start, and then writer's block kicked in and... well... I don't suppose any of you know what it's like when you know what you want to happen but you just can't seem to write it for the life of you? Anyway I literally just finished the chapter and wanted to post as soon as possible so once again sorry for any mistakes.**

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**Chapter Eight: Identity Crisis**

_November 19__th__, 2012  
12:40pm  
Earth_

Tony Stark was incredibly busy attempting to seem busy.

To anyone but himself, that would have seemed utterly pointless, but in his own ingenious mind he considered it worth the trouble.

The reason: Pepper.

Alright, he couldn't pull off that lie even to himself. The reason wasn't _Pepper_, but what Pepper wanted him to do. Usually such things entailed of taxes, signing contracts for his (her) business, and a bunch of other things Tony cared so little about that he couldn't even remember what they were.

This time was so much worse.

This time didn't consist of taxes or paperwork or anything of that sort, _no_, Pepper needed him for something to do with the stupid global agency occupying his building. Tony didn't even know what _they_ wanted. All he _did _know, however, is that whenever S.H.I.E.L.D. wanted to discuss something with him, it was usually never good and took some serious negotiating to get around all the laws he most likely broke. Doubt him not – there were always laws he didn't even know _existed_ that he broke.

That's why, at this current moment, he had pretty much locked himself in his makeshift office atop one of the higher floors of the Stark Tower (although the "A" Tower was more fitting considering the state of the sign he'd hadn't gotten around to fixing), his suit at the ready if need be. His initial reason for bringing the suit had been to escape into the cityscape he was encompassed by, but in the meantime the suit was providing a meaningful distraction. After all, he _was_ a genius – which in turn meant he was utterly _bored_ when given more than five minutes of spare time and he desperately needed something to do. That's what led to him currently tinkering on his newest Iron Man suit with pointless upgrades that he'd probably remove or refine later.

"Jarvis, update," Tony ordered, the command rolling off his tongue more from reflex then curiosity. He had been speaking the same pair of words every five minutes for the past hour. Thus far J.A.R.V.I.S. responded constantly with "_sir_ _nothing has changed regarding the fact that Ms. Potts is still searching for your whereabouts"_ so Tony already had an answer prepared in the twelve percent of his mind that was still paying J.A.R.V.I.S. attention.

"Sir, there seems to be a disturbance outside the building. It involves your friends Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanoff along with an unidentified teenage boy." Said the A.I. with its British tone.

For a moment it seemed as it Tony hadn't heard his _just a rather very intelligent system _respond, having expected the outcome, "Well tell Pepper – wait what?"

"Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanoff are entering the premises while restraining a teenage boy," continued J.A.R.V.I.S., "they've requested permission to – it appears my protocols are being manually overwritten by SHIELD. They have been alerted to your location and will be here momentarily."

Tony huffed in annoyance while grabbing a nearby cloth to wipe his hands. Even after upgrading his electronic version of his old butler, S.H.I.E.L.D. always found a way to bypass the basic security measures. He supposed it didn't help that half of their agency was practically living in his building.

As uneventful as that was, he couldn't help but be curious as to what a couple of _Avengers_ were doing restraining a _teenager_.

Fortunately for him, he didn't have to ponder any longer as the elevators opened with a confused looking Captain and a rather annoyed looking Romanoff. The rather normal and flustered looking teenager was being restrained by Rogers in the most awkward manner Tony could have ever imagined the Captain being in. He seemed wholly confused at the entire situation – in fact, he probably looked as confused as Tony felt. Furthermore, there was the infamous _Black Widow_, standing it what appeared like casual – if not flattering – clothing. It was different to see her look so _harmless_ when she was quite the opposite.

Besides, in Tony's perspective he found it odd to see Rogers and Romanoff together. To him they seemed like entirely different people, thrown into the same group just because of how opposite they were.

The teenager on the other hand, who was fumbling against his restrainer, halted his hindrance upon laying his eyes on the billionaire in front of him. Tony was used to the big eyes of wonder and the scornful looks of jealousy, but seeing the total _admiration_ reflected in the youth's eyes was something new entirely, as Tony didn't even believe his own narcissistic mind that he was something to be _admired_.

Maybe he redeemed some of himself with the _Avengers_, did some good out of all the bad he'd done with the war profiteering and the obvious egotistical mindset he imposed on all those around him, even if to him dying slowly and living only through some unstable _thing_ he made and stuck in his chest seemed awfully _un_-admirable_. _It took him half a minute to comprehend this new reality, and he rose a curious eyebrow in the boy's direction.

Romanoff, whom most likely assumed it was directed towards herself (and the reasoning behind what looked suspiciously like some sort of _kidnapping_) huffed sharply and seated herself on one of the sofas in the lounging area. Rogers followed suit, leading the teenager in front of him until they were all waiting.

Tony, whom was sitting nearby on a workbench, put down his filthy rag and worked his way over to what seemed like a lengthy discussion. Before he'd even reached them, the boy seemed to have overcome his initial shock and spoke to Tony.

"Why, _why_ was I being followed by _her_," He gestured to Natasha, "_restrained _by _him_," he nudged a head in the direction of Steve, "and brought to _your_ tower?"

The teenager, whom was obviously confused, seemed to know more than he was letting on despite the evident frustration in his tone. But, more importantly, the boy assumed it was all _Tony_'s fault when he didn't even know what was going on.

"Yes, why indeed?" He issued his own question to the two seated Avengers.

Rogers looked like he had no idea, which Tony had no trouble believing, so he directed his gaze to the red-haired she-demon.

"I was on direct orders from Fury. I have reason to believe this teenager – Peter Parker – is actually the vigilante known as Spider-Man." She sat calmly, as if she hadn't just potential revealed this teenager's secret alter-ego (but who was Tony _kidding_, the _kid_ looked like a breeze could knock him over).

Tony stood before – _whathisnameagain_ – Peter, looking from him to Romanoff a few times before his response was stolen by Rogers.

"Really?" Steve looked mildly astonished.

"It took a few more hours than I would have liked, but yes, unless someone skilled enough to hack SHIELD purposefully used Peter here as a decoy, I am about eighty-three percent sure he is Spider-Man." She stated factually as if it weren't one of the hardest things to believe.

Peter on the other hand was bug-eyed and perspiring slightly, in which Tony couldn't help but give the kid another once over. _Spider-Man? _

"Are you?" Tony asked, proceeding the question with one of his snarky remarks, "I mean lying wouldn't be smart considering you're in a room with three Avengers that could easily kick your ass, and I don't think you want to lie to the global agency that can make sure you never existed."

"Wait a moment," Steve interrupted, directing his next question to Natasha, "What happens if he is Spider-Man?" He looked concerned for Peter's well-being, despite not knowing anything about him.

"If he is," Romanoff stated more to Peter than Steve, "then SHIELD will determine if he is a threat or not. If not, he can continue doing whatever he was doing before."

Peter visibly gulped, eyes darting between all of them.

As scrawny as the kid looked, Tony knew all about mutants. He made it his priority to know everything S.H.I.E.L.D. did, especially about "gifted" people. This included the top secret school known as Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, conveniently located in New York. Their powers were genetic and misleading – they usually never related directly to one's physical appearance. He guessed Romanoff knew this too.

"Identities are secret for a reason," murmured the Captain, a hint of threat underlining his statement.

"The kid doesn't have a choice!" Tony exclaimed abruptly.

"If he is Spider-Man, he shouldn't have to tell anybody if he doesn't want to. There may be people he doesn't want hurt, people he's trying to protect–"

"SHIELD would protect them," interrupted Romanoff, "if he is not a threat."

All eyes were on Peter, those of Steve and Tony hoping for the answer that would contradict the other. Natasha, however, sat stoically across from the speculated Spider-Man and spoke soothingly, "It's in your best interest to tell the truth, secret identity or not."

Tony sighed dramatically in the tense silence that followed. "Enough of this. Jarvis, pull up anything you can regarding the names 'Peter Parker' and 'Spider-Man'. Limit the search to Manhattan. Open any video feeds if you've got them."

"Sir, would you like my search to include the SHIELD database?" J.A.R.V.I.S. asked.

Tony waved a hand absentmindedly in approval before voicing his consent, "Yep."

"What are doing?" Asked the dumbfounded Captain, clearly unable to piece together the rather obvious audio evidence.

"What do you _think _I'm doing? Baking a cake? I'm going to find out if this guy is actually Spider-Man without needing a confession."

Bringing up a few holographic screens with the wave of his hands, Tony scanned the contents quickly and efficiently, effectively searching through any useful information.

"Here: Oscorp's mainframe was hacked – very subtly but not subtle enough – to loop and tamper with the footage during the whole genetic mutant lizard outbreak, to basically erase any and all footage of Spider-Man. Not only is Peter Parker," he swiped a hand towards a smaller image, expanding the contents, "the son of the Richard Parker, the recently deceased genius who worked alongside Curt Connors – what is _with _these names and their alliterations – they first worked on the genetic mutations involving _spiders_ at Oscorp."

Upon the rather lost look of Rogers and the _I-know-all-this-already_ from Romanoff, Tony murmured a few expletives under his breath in exasperation.

"Look, just by hacking back into the system," Tony once more swiped a few fingers across the contents adorning the holographic images, "and recovering the lost data from the mainframe," upon which a faint loading icon popped up across the graphics, "and voilà!"

Gesturing grandly with a final sweep of his hands, he portrayed a blurry still image from Oscorp's surveillance to his makeshift audience. On it was Spider-Man, mask-less, broadcasting the face of Peter Parker even through the static.

For a second, like a moment frozen in time, nobody moved or made a noise. Natasha Romanoff looked at Tony with a hint of approval, as if to wordlessly communicate that he just made her life somewhat easier. Steve Rogers glanced at the photo in utter shock, disbelief splayed across his features. Then there was Peter Parker. The formerly nervous teenager looked about as coiled as a spring, prepared to do _anything_ to relieve himself from that situation.

The second suddenly snapped like a string that had been drawn to tight and chaos broke loose. Peter jerked out of Steve's grip – whom had previously loosened it with the distraction – and vaulted out of reach. Natasha was able to grab the fabric of his jacket, to which Peter spun and discarded before it could halt what was now apparently an escape. Tony stood there, watching, as suddenly the teen bounded towards the floor to ceiling windows, looking back for only a moment to grimace in what could be later thought of as an apology. With that, Peter Parker launched himself forwards and through the glass, shattering the window and disappearing into the bustle of mid-day Manhattan.

Sputerring, Tony couldn't believe his eyes, "Did he – did he actually just do that? Did he just _break_ my window? My _newly repaired window_?" He glanced quickly between the two shocked Avengers in the room before taping the band on his wrist. In a flash the suit he'd been working on transported itself and commenced attaching itself to his body.

"Don't get me wrong," he spoke during the process it took for the bulk of the suit to construct itself, "Just this once we happen to have a mutual interest – the capture of a certain vigilante."

Romanoff raised an eyebrow towards him as she crossed her arms, dropping the garment she had torn from Peter. "As long as you get him," she spoke before leisurely yawning as if to display her disinterest.

Rogers, who had stayed in the same position simply blinked towards Tony, realization dawning on this face, "Do you think he's alright?"

Tony would have probably made a snide remark to that comment for the sheer absurdity of it, weren't it for the fact he was already launching himself out the already broken window. Activating his thrusters, he fled into the cityscape to search for Peter Parker – or should he say Spider-Man – who was most likely using his infamous web travel.

Using J.A.R.V.I.S. to aid his search for the teen, it didn't take long at all. "I have located him about half a mile from your current location, on Forty-Fifth Street," vocalized the artificial intelligence.

Tony quickly lurched himself about the skyscrapers surrounding him, and flew the gap between himself and J.A.R.V.I.S.'s reported sighting. His thrusters sputtered slightly due to his previous adjustments.

"Sir, suit power seems to be decreasing at a semi-alarming rate. I'd recommend you stabilize flight for a safe return."

Tony groaned in response. Just what he needed – something to go wrong with his suit. This is what reaction he got for trying to be impressive on a prototype.

"Well reduce the power for the in-suit entertainment. Focus forty percent to the thrusters at all times, and ten percent for an emergency landing."

Within moments he spotted a familiar red and blue figure against the skyline, transporting himself with agility that made Tony cringe thinking about.

"Where did he find the _time_ to put on the suit? And _why_ red and blue? I haven't seen any red and blue _spiders._ Is he _that_ patriotic?" He murmured to himself and the potentially listening A.I. occupying itself with his commands.

He boosted once more with his thrusters and was within fifty feet of Spider-Man in barely any time at all. Spider-Man, having somehow sensed his presence (or heard the noise from his thrusters) suddenly dropped the "web" he was swinging from and began freefalling.

Tony suspended himself, too dumbstruck to attempt to stop the spider from going _splat_ when the vigilante below him spun upwards and launched some "web" directly at his suit. Tony was not expecting it, therefore he didn't have the time to dodge and the tendrils splattered across his face. As if that wasn't bad enough, he was utterly unprepared for the lurch downwards due to supporting Spider-Man's weight and he dropped about ten feet before stabilizing.

Grabbing the cord-like tendrils off his suit with a scoff, Tony wheeled around to see Spider-Man perched atop the edge of a building, staring at him almost _mockingly_.

Without a second thought, Tony lifted his right arm and fired a blast from the thruster. With a yelp he saw the spider jump and freefall before clinging to another building like an _actual_ spider.

"I thought I was wanted _alive_!" Exclaimed the voice of the vigilante below. Tony noted how the teen gained confidence when he wore his mask.

"Kid, make this easy for yourself. SHIELD won't hurt you, _I_ won't hurt you, _if _you come _willingly_." Tony attempted to reason with what he now realized was just a frightened boy, scared to see the bigger world of super heroes and villains. Tony supposed he was happy just being on his own in Manhattan, but not everyone got what they wanted.

"I'm not too inclined to believe you after you fired that _thing _at me!" Said the obviously offended teenager.

_Drama queen_, Tony thought in exasperation, _two can play at that game_.

"Fine, fine, I'll let the _big_ guy come after you. I can't deal with this," He stated, obviously a lie, but hopefully _Boy America_ believed it. Tony internally chuckled at the nickname he came up with. He was not going to give up that one any time soon.

Spider-Man scurried up the building he was clutching to previously and perching himself once more to level their gazes. "You can't possibly mean–"

"Oh, I do," Tony interrupted, "He's also breathtakingly angry. Wanna take your chances with him instead?"

Tony would have sworn he imagined the poor kid paling underneath his skin-tight mask, before cocking his head to the side slightly, as if actually giving Tony's earlier proposal a thought.

"Sir, battery levels are down to fifty percent. I strongly recommend you commence your journey back to the tower."

Ignoring the artificial intelligence, Tony spurred on Spider-Man further, "It's not the end of the world. All you need is SHIELD to certify you, and then you can prance about all you want. Hell, they'll even protect _you._"

Seemingly decided, he stood up from his perched position, "Lead the way."

Tony realized too late he'd been duped, partially due to the fact that he was an _utter_ idiot to expect the kid to follow him. He dropped the ground in half-frustration and half an attempt to conserve power.

"Son-of-a-bitch," he exclaimed rather loudly, to which J.A.R.V.I.S reprimanded him.

"There are children in the vicinity, sir. I would refrain from using profanities."

Considering to swear once more, just because of his artificial intelligence's warning picked Tony's interest. However, he refrained from doing so for one simple reason.

He had a bug to squish.

He also hadn't realized he'd spoken aloud until his electronic butler corrected the analogy, "Sir, spiders are not bugs, they are arachnids."

Just this once, Tony considered terminating J.A.R.V.I.S. indefinitely.


	9. To Shatter

**Umm, well, hi. It's been a while. Updates as you've guessed are becoming sporadic and irregular. Hence this chapter that pushes a lot of the plot points forward so I can make sure I don't abandon it. To make up for the wait it is about 2000 words longer than usual. I even went out of my way to ensure this chapter was out by today, *cough* my b-day *cough* for you guys.  
Have any of you seen Age of Ultron?  
Sorry if the chapter seems choppy, but I wanted to include a lot of parts to get the story moving at a faster pace. To do so most of these parts were shortened, as this chapter could have essentially been stretched into three with the way I've been doing things so far.  
I'm curious to what you guys think is going to happen. Let me know in the reviews! (Speaking of which holy _fuck_ 100 reviews you guys are amazing)**

* * *

**Chapter Nine: To Shatter**

_November 19__th__, 2012  
12:58pm  
Earth_

The woman was rather disgusted with herself.

_Devious Gods and wretched mortals._

To belittle herself to such a task, to take orders from _him_. Of course, she had her reasons that would allow it all to come to fruition. She would eventually have what she desired if she succeeded, if _he _succeeded. But playing a game of wits with a man whose tongue was as laced with silver as he was mischievous, was a gamble in the most lenient of senses.

She was jesting herself. There was barely any way for her to get out of this enslavement unscathed. He had known how to address her, how to influence her, how to _control _her in the way she so adversely despised that it wracked her very being – it _would_ get her what she desired. It _had _to.

That did not mean, however, that she could not plan around _his_ plans, attempt to make a foolproof barrier to ensure what she was promised. Yes, that is what she would do to prepare for any… misgivings involved.

How mortals were puny. They were incredibly authoritative, expecting their demands to be heeded without question. They expected glory and riches for doing utterly nothing, felt entitled to their "rights". The women, _maybe_ deserved that respect, just slightly more so than the other of their kind. Men were no more than savage beasts to be controlled.

And she had found herself quite the catch for her own deviations.

No more than a boy attempting to bear the responsibilities of a man, perfect for what she had in mind. Having become an interest of those empowered and self-absorbed mortals – those whom believed themselves capable of wielding power rivalled to _them_ – but not yet _associated_ with them, he would do just fine. She could receive all the information she needed in this manner and plan for her own needs.

What an interesting pawn indeed, with abilities of his own. She could terrorize others with this if she needed to, betray those dear. He would be her own champion, in contrast to whom _he_ had ordered. She would still comply, although she would not reveal her own secrets. There was no foul play in exceeding expectations.

She stroked the face of her captive who stood as still as stone underneath her fingertips, enthralled by her beauty. As men should be. His eyes were blank in wonderment, as she resisted the giggle that threatened the silence.

She would be the pawn of no man, regardless of whom they were. She would play _him_ for the fool he thought she was, feed his lies as if she were truly enslaved, and the moment she could sense victory she would take it, much like the being she now controlled.

"Perhaps I shall take advice from you," she spoke calmly, her clear enunciations indicating her intellect, "Rather, your ancestors. I very much wonder the pain of being liquefied from the inside."

•ψ•Ω•ψ•

"You're still here because?" Asked the rather-annoyed Tony Stark.

Steve did not know how to answer that question. He had a favour to ask, of course, but due to the current predicament it had seemed a rather misplaced time. Not to mention the argument they held minutes before, centering on identities and such that it seemed that Steve no longer had the authority to ask his fellow avenger for a favour. Natasha had departed just moments earlier upon discovering the iron-clad avenger had failed his pursuit, making the situation all the more unpleasant.

Tony raised one of his eyebrows in further question, "Make it snappy, Cappy, things to do and people to see. That reminds me, Spidey over there," he gestured out of the broken window, "is almost as patriotic as you. I'm thinking of renaming him _Boy America_ if he ever shows his face here long enough for me to pummel it–"

Who was Steve _joking_, Tony Stark had the attention span of a goldfish. There was no way he was still upset over the outburst concerning their spat.

Tony's head suddenly snapped up in realization, "I get it. You need something. We don't like each other enough to spend genuine time together, no hard feelings there. So Capsicle, what's it this time? Got a lady friend? Need advice?" He wiggled his eyebrows in a way that made the Captain feel incredibly uncomfortable.

"It's not a guy is it?" Tony's expression blanched, "Oh that's cool you know, free country and all–"

"Electronics, Stark, I need to learn how to use a cell phone." Stated Steve once he'd listened to more than he could handle of Tony's ramblings.

Said billionaire's mouth formed an "o" in realization as he spun on his heel towards his workbench. As he approached and rummaged through his belongings he asked, "Who you gonna call?"

"Pardon?" Steve asked, unsure if the other Avenger was being this frank intentionally.

"Ghostbusters, jeez Rogers, catch up on the times. The year was… nineteen eighty-three, no nineteen eighty four. Great movie."

"I'll add it to the list, but–"

"Hold on, got it. Older model, still incredibly high-tech for this time and age, and luckily for you – user-friendly. This baby's got more power than the tech that probably made you – you know, the serum…" He trailed off rather uncharacteristically before his thought process changed once more, "why do you need a cellphone now, of all times?" He asked as he walked back to where Steve was sitting.

"I thought it was about the time to get myself out of the forties and into the twenty-first century." Steve stated, not exactly a lie, but not the whole truth either. He got up to take the device from Tony's outstretched hand.

Tony jerked his arm back, denying Cap the electronic device, "Mhm, yep, sure. Why do you _really_ need the phone?"

Steve sighed and pulled out the number of the man he had met earlier, handing it to Stark, whom snatched it like it was about to disappear, "Was this written in glitter?" He asked as he examined it closely.

Now it was Steve's turn to raise an eyebrow, "Glitter? Ballpoint pen, actually. He was an acquaintance I met earlier and honestly, he seemed like the person someone needs to watch over. Now it looks like I can't without your cooperation."

"So it _is_ guys," was all Tony said.

"What? No! Stark, the man whom that number belongs to might be dangerous. We were talking and as crazy as this sounds I think he controlled _my coffee_."

Tony brought up his array of electronic images Steve had barely grown accustomed to seeing since the occurrence involving Loki. If he had to guess, Stark was most likely somehow stalking Percy using his assortment of gadgets.

"Your _coffee_? You okay Rogers? We all know dates can do a number–"

"It was not a date," he sighed in annoyance, "and that's not the point. I know what I saw, Stark. There's something weird about Percy."

"So this mysterious man has a name! It's a rather odd one too if you ask me," Steve gave Tony one of his looks indicating his impatience.

Tony murmured, "Yeah, yeah," in defeat as he continued fidgeting with his electronics before announcing, "You weren't wrong about the weird thing, he's caused quite a few spectacles when he was kid."

"Like?" The Captain inquired.

"Let's see, _Perseus Jackson_ got in a gun fight when he was twelve with his kidnapper. What else, seems he blew up his school gym when he was thirteen… travelled the country and world without any documents – gotta ask him how he managed that nowadays – he even went officially missing for eight months when he was sixteen," Tony whistled in what Steve considered was some sort of appreciation.

"Father died before he was born. First step-father went missing, second's still around. Went through about ten schools when he was young. Studied marine biology in college – so he's at least educated – somewhere in San Francisco. Volunteers at a lot of marine rescue places around New York. Nothing supernatural in that, but it would be one hell of an origin story."

Steve stared blankly at Stark. He was still becoming accustomed with this day's way of coming about information. It was astonishing.

Tony continued, "SHIELD may want to still make a profile for him as a person of interest, if solely for his talent for law-evading. In fact, I'm going to bet he has one…" Tony did another thing concerning his electronics before he spoke again, "I was right. Person of interest… oh look, says here he's a 'possible gifted'," he said with the adorning air quotations, "so I guess it's '_possible'_ he controlled your coffee."

"So what does all this mean?" Asked Steve, unsure of the next step they were going to take in concerns to this individual.

"You're the Captain, Cap. You decide if you want to a) have him SHIELD investigated, b) let him off the hook, or c) confront him yourself."

"Why are you letting me make the decision? From what I recall you don't quite play well with others."

"See, that's where you're wrong. I don't play well with others if there isn't a common interest. And this time that interest is your new _friend_."

"I'm not sure that's a good thing," Steve remarked, thinking about the earlier situation of how Stark's common interest with Natasha lead to Spider-Man escaping their grasp. "Where does he live?" Steve conceded, already walking towards the elevator.

"Hold on big shot, JARVIS, the suit ready?" Tony asked his electronic butler offhandedly.

"I'm afraid not for another hour, sir."

"Ah well, probably won't need it with you there." Stark stated and Steve dared take it as a compliment.

"I thought you were busy?" He asked, aware that Tony had attempted to get him to leave earlier on that very premise.

"Nah, I just think you're boring."

•ψ•Ω•ψ•

Percy stumbled into his apartment, key still in the door, as he promptly made his way for couch, forgetting all common sense for a moment. This was his second headache today and he didn't understood why, especially because of the agonizing pain it caused. If he didn't know better, he would have sworn it weren't natural.

The migraine continued to sear his thoughts like the very brand on his arm – the one that labelled himself as a praetor of New Rome – and with a sharp intake of breath he closed his eyes and collapsed onto the couch.

_Remember what Lupa taught you. Control. Wolf Stare. Use it against the pain._

The Wolf Stare was one of his first new memories when he had lost his memory a few years ago and Percy still remembered it clearly. It had been one of Lupa's most helpful lessons, which not only kept any trouble-seeking mortals away, but became a technique Percy learned to use to control his five senses. To dull or to heighten them, it was an exhausting if not very useful benefit.

Using it now, he supressed the overwhelming pain that threatened to overtake his mind as if it had its own consciousness, focusing his eyes to a single point on the ceiling while he evened out his breathing.

Before he knew it, he was asleep.

_He didn't know anything. _

_He groggily opened his eyes to the mossy floor created by time upon the stone, his body sprawled in a very uncomfortable manner. Gently prying his arm out from its place underneath him, he used it to propel himself upwards. Not before he realized there was an object clutched in it. Prying his fingers apart, as if they haven't been used in months, a ballpoint pen gleamed up at him. It shone, curiously, with an engraving scrawled upon in odd looking letters. Anaklusmos. He knew it definitely wasn't English, but oddly, the back of his mind whispered its translation in his ear as if it were. _

_Riptide._

_It was then that the frigid night air struck his skin in full force, causing a violent shiver to rack his frame. The stars and the moon did little to illuminate his surroundings, but somehow he felt as if he'd been in this place a long time. _

_As he tried to stand his knees wobbled and his muscles struggled. Numerous pops and cracks sounded from his joints as if he hadn't moved in a while. Blackness danced at the edge of his vision with the strain it caused him, stars prickling at his consciousness. Now standing upright, the lull of unconsciousness faded as only a dull throb upon his temple remained._

_His clothes were covered with dirt, dust and even old soot as he brushed himself off. His head began to throb in pain, his fingers pressed to his temple in response, trying to stop the pulse he felt in time with his heartbeat. Regardless it thrummed on, most likely attempting to prove the point that his memories of everything prior had disappeared_.

_His shirt was torn, heavy gashes having sliced the fabric like scissors through paper. Although as he inspected the material closer he was not harmed in the slightest. No dried blood accompanied what looked like a brutal maiming, no indication that he had been wearing this shirt at the time of such an attack._

_Confused, he took the orange garment off for a better look. There was a black font, indicating something, but as the shirt was so utterly destroyed he couldn't tell what it said. The rest of his clothing followed that general pattern, stripes of his jeans torn or frayed, his feet void of any shoes. The nightly wind began to freeze his bare chest and as he slid his ragged shirt back on he realized it must have been sometime in the early spring. _

_Inspecting his surroundings, he noticed that he was surrounded by a burned down stone wreck of what was most likely an old mansion. Dirt and dust coated the floor around him, having stirred only from his movements. Rubble was strewn everywhere along with pieces of stone, brick and metal. Old wooden and steel beams lay in disjointed heaps, some areas so devastated it was impossible to imagine what they had been previous. The original stone work was the only true indication to the building around him and didn't reveal anything that he didn't already expect. That being that the building was old. Very old. _

_A low growl reverberated from behind him, and with a reflex he didn't know he had he turned himself towards the source of the sound, opening his ballpoint pen. It sounded utterly stupid, but to his surprise a bronze blade gleamed as it emerged. The heavy footfalls of claws against stone – or what was left of it – rung out through the silence. He stiffened in fear – of what he hadn't the slightest idea._

_His question was answered a moment later when a large red-brown wolf – the head almost a foot above him – came into his view. Its sparkling silver eyes held far too much intelligence for a normal wolf and in that moment he thought himself idiotic to be thinking about such a ridiculous thing at a time like this._

_Here was a _wolf_ – no matter how intelligent it was – eyeing him and unless he did something smart in the next five seconds he was about to become dog kibble. In the back of his mind he wondered if the scratches on his shirt originated from the canine as he placed his makeshift weapon in front of him in an attempt to seem threatening._

_He knew it was hopeless. There was no way he would be able to outmaneuver the behemoth of an animal before him, not with its powerful body and sharp claws against his amnesia and the weapon he didn't think he had any idea how to use._

_What he _didn't _expect however, more so than actually winning the fight, was for the wolf to communicate with him._

Percy Jackson_, the female voice resounded throughout his mind, invasive in the way it prodded at his consciousness, _I was told you would be coming_._

_In a flash he understood – _my name is Percy Jackson_ – as if a puzzle piece had been placed in the jumble of his mind. A faint memory popped up, one of a beautiful girl with golden hair and gray eyes, smiling at him in the way he could have never imagined a girl looking at him._

_Annabeth was her name, another puzzle piece fit into his head._

_The wolf – or should he say she-wolf – stood there watching him curiously. _It seems even with your memory erased your instinct has stayed, _she spoke wordlessly into his thoughts._

"_Who–" His voice cracked, so he tried again, "Who are you?"_

_The she-wolf began pacing once more, circling him as a predator would its prey. _Survive my assault, Percy Jackson, and you shall receive answers to your questions, _she said slowly, staring into his eyes with her own, _as we all must – conquer or die.

_Percy couldn't help it, he panicked, "What? You want me to – you expect me to–" But his plea was ignored as the next second she lunged forward, claws outstretched. _

_Stupefied, he bent his knees and parried her sharp claws with his sword's blunt edge, before he lost his balance and fell backwards. Luckily, his defence had survived long enough to avoid his own maiming. The she-wolf landed a few feet away and steadied herself once more to face him._

_Percy was stunned. He did not know how he did that, he just acted. He wasn't complaining, and he desperately hoped he could do it again to keep himself alive. Receding once more into muscle memory, he jumped to his feet and faced his opponent._

_If it was possible for the she-wolf to look approving, Percy guessed this was it. She attacked once more, the same amount of ferocity presented as in the previous. Quickly he ducked underneath her paws whilst swerving sideways – as he had somehow predicted it – and went to retaliate. Just as he attempted to attack her midriff, she lashed out with her tail and he found himself on the floor with a large set of claws forcing weight onto his chest. However, in the midst of his fall he had angled his sword upwards so that if the she-wolf moved any closer, she would skewer herself._

_Despite this, her claws drew more gashes onto his already ruined shirt, but somehow even as they rested upon open skin no pain or blood indicated an injury._

Interesting_, the voice rumbled in a curious manner, _I was not aware of your curse.

_Percy was still very confused and pinned underneath the giant she-wolf, "What curse?"_

Very well, _the voice continued, _you have survived my attack and even attempted to retaliate. I commend you for your courage and have decided to train you in the ways of the Roman Empire. _She lifted her paw off Percy's chest in acknowledgement and a low growl reverberated the surroundings. Numerous wolves hidden from sight howled in response, leaving the clearing silent once more. He carefully pulled himself to his feet, and with the threat neutralized he relaxed. Upon doing so, his fingers twitched with muscle memory and suddenly he gripped the cap of the ballpoint pen, to which he gently pressed the tip of the sword. In half a second he once again had a regular pen. Stunned, he placed the object in his pocket for future use._

I am Lupa, the wolf goddess. About your curse – you will have to discover that for yourself. _She paused momentarily, as if allowing the information to sink in._

Percy Jackson, I apologize for startling you with my attack. You see, many like you come to this place to be judged worthy or not to receive the training that will make you heroes. You have passed outstandingly, even as many others do not, despite the fact that you all are half-bloods – the spawn of mortals and gods. It is now my duty to prepare you for your role in the Legion.

_Percy didn't know how to react. Heroes? Half-bloods? In his gut he knew she was right, but his mind couldn't believe it. It seemed so surreal. Slowly he got to his feet, brushing his tattered clothing. _

Yet you, Percy Jackson, are different. _If wolves had the capability to look questioning, Lupa accomplished it. There was an unspoken message in her gaze, something that Percy didn't quite understand. It seemed foreboding with the way it told the stories of the past and the ways of the future. With a start he realized that Lupa, despite the fact that she was a wolf and a Goddess, had loved and lost like any other mortal. There was no other way she could carry a sadness so profound yet an expectation so compelling – no way she would be able to lead those who were worthy to follow her. _

_Percy couldn't remember any Gods, but if he could, he would swear they paled in comparison to Lupa. An insitinct told him none of them could possibly understand what it was like to build something only to know it wouldn't last forever, but somehow he understood that Lupa managed to create heroes for the slaughter. He knew he should be somewhat upset – angry even. Here was one more influence in his life, telling him about one he didn't remember… and still he felt a strong, almost unbreakable loyalty coursing throughout his veins. It pulsed in time with his heartbeat, threatening him that there was no other way to understand life. _

_He knew it could be considered foolish good faith in all those around him, but unbeknownst to him it ran much, much deeper. It was the capability to unleash the good in those around him. It was a flaw that in moderation was good, but otherwise incredibly dangerous. This was the power that brought people together as easily as it tore people apart. It was the gift that started and ended wars, the gift that could ultimately destroy everything only to rebuild it._

_This is what Lupa saw in a boy that didn't even know his own name, with the way his eyes held the clarity of battle and how his heart held the room for the world. She didn't know why it didn't scare her, as it should have considering it could have her Empire destroyed. Alas, she made her decision, the one the Gods had warned her about, claiming that he could not be controlled._

_It was a dangerous game Juno was playing, toying with the Greeks in such a way. To steal their leader and put him into a six month slumber, taking his former memories and dropping him into Roman territory. Juno could have led him to his own slaughter were in not for his pure instinctual skill, which kept herself from feeding him to her pack. _

_She looked down once more into his strong green eyes, the eyes of his father, and she _knew_ he would never be controlled in the ways the Gods hoped. But, this was Their decision, therefore she would adhere despite her own instincts._

The Gods have tasked me to unleash the killer instinct in you, boy. From what I have heard – the one you have tried so hard to deny.

_She just hoped she wasn't creating their own means of destruction._

•ψ•Ω•ψ•

"I'm beginning to regret this," stated a very nervous-looking Jane.

"Common, it'll be fun. Well, hopefully. He seemed like a nice guy, I doubt it's dangerous."

Jane gave Darcy a skeptical look, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"That there's nothing to worry about," Darcy said as they exited the elevator and into the hall.

Darcy was slightly worried – contradictory to her statement – but she wasn't going to tell Jane that. Percy was nice and she strongly doubted he would hurt either of them after having saved their lives earlier that day. They were currently feet away from his apartment and the embarrassing memories from this morning. Taking a deep breath, with Jane slightly hiding behind her, she knocked three times on the door.

Nothing.

She knocked again, loud enough probably for the neighbours to hear. Still nothing.

"Maybe he's not home?" Jane speculated, already turning around back towards the elevator.

That's when Darcy noticed there was a key still in the lock. In a spur of the moment action, she reached for the door knob and turned. Grinning and turning back to Jane, she whispered, "Its open."

Jane stared at her in wide-eyed horror, "No. We are absolutely _not_ going in there. This was a bad idea. _This is a really bad idea_. This is why I make the plans," she rambled off into her thoughts.

Regardless of her best friend's warning, Darcy stepped inside the apartment.

It looked exactly the way she had seen it earlier that day, except for one obvious reason. Percy was sleeping on the couch. It looked awfully mundane for the supposed immortal demi-god they speculated him to be, and just for a moment Darcy thought there was no possible way they had actually come to that conclusion. Taking a deep breath, she calmed herself and stepped inside, Jane on her heels. She closed the door silently behind her.

"He's _sleeping._ Oh this is _so_ not a good idea," repeated Jane as she started for the door once again.

"It'll be fine. If we're quiet we can probably snoop around and get some information. _And_ leave before he wakes up and come back to confront him." Darcy smiled in her off-handed way and walked past the couch into the hallway leading to his bedroom.

"This isn't right. We're trespassing. _What if he wakes up? _We're _breaking_ the law."

"If we hurry we don't have to find out," Darcy stated, opening the door into his bedroom.

She didn't know what she was expecting. Clothes on the floor, maybe, bed undone, probably, but _not_ a wire mannequin clothed in ancient looking armour. Jane probably had the same reaction considering she immediately knelt next to it.

"This has to be an antique replica. Look at it – the original probably dates back to around 500 B.C. Extraordinary. This further proves our theory – he could actually _be_ that old." Jane sounded far too excited than Darcy thought possible about some armour, but who was she to judge nerds?

"So, armour, okay, everyone has their hobbies," she remarked as she steeped closer to the item of interest. Regardless of Jane's remarks of its age, this "replica" looked brand new. Polished and gleaming, the bronze looked practically brand new.

"What do you think _that_ is?" Darcy suddenly asked, gesturing to a horn-like object sitting on the dresser.

Jane followed her best friend's gaze and shrugged, forgetting it for the moment. Darcy walked up to it, picking up what on closer inspection seemed similar to a ram's horn. It was a lot heavier than she would have thought and almost dropped it. In fact, one edge was serrated as if it were broken harshly.

Being curious as she was, she poked her finger to the tip. Sharp as a knife, it sliced the pad of her finger with ease. In shock she loosened her grip and it clattered to the ground with a bang. Jane whipped her head from where she was still examining the armour, seeming like a deer caught in headlights.

In the silence they both listened for any indication of Percy's stirring, to which they heard none. Thanking their lucky stars, Darcy clutched the horn and placed it back where she had found it, her finger trickling blood. She brought it to her lips in response.

Jane eyed her injury with a shake of her head before standing and quickly rummaging for any other interesting things around the room. A few loose left papers were about but even as Jane scanned them Darcy paid them no attention. She was too busy watching a very disgruntled Percy Jackson, sword in hand, raise an eyebrow.

"You know," he said conversationally, his voice a lot colder than Darcy remembered it, "whenever I imagined seeing two girls in my bedroom, this was not what I expected."

•ψ•Ω•ψ•

_Date Unknown  
Time Unknown  
Asgard_

Loki dismantled his illusion. He wanted to see their reaction. He _craved_ it. He would spite them, tear them apart and make them feel sorrow they inflicted onto him. There was no more waiting.

With a pause much to create dramatic effect, Loki smirked. The guards watched his movement with curious disbelief. They would react in moments, but that timeframe consisted of an eternity. With barely a thought, he acted, dismantling his prison in ways none could fathom.

It was then that reality literally paused, the eternity artificially created. Millennia could pass in this second and only he would know. Eyes glinting with the use of his craft, contemplating the amount skill it took to create this fabric of time only to tear it apart after a single moment, Loki laughed. It was something so incredibly profound that his simple-minded _brother_ could have never even attempted to defend against it. Loki considered the notion that was perhaps it might have been so insane a measure than none but he could accomplish it, not without his understanding of the Tesseract. This reality was as infinite as it was non-existent, and he disappeared without a trace.

Time unfroze, leaving a phenomenon much like teleportation in its wake. The whole of Asgard sensed it, the crack in space and time, the instant so profound that Heimdall was blind, yet it had not lasted more than a millisecond.

The reaction was instantaneous. The God of Thunder was alerted and outraged. They were foolish. With the cost of a world in balance, a storm as furious as Thor's anger quaked through Midgard with his appearance.

Loki was free.


	10. Puppeteer

**Okay, at least I stuck to the monthly schedule I set for myself. The chapters from now on should be coming out more frequently because from this weekend on my exams are done and summer starts! Yay! I just want to say I'm sorry if I don't characterize people correctly, because I do write in a lot of POVs and I do try my best. If you guys have any suggestions on how to fix that I'd gladly take them into account.  
****On a more important note:  
****I did state _Marvel's Agents of SHIELD_ would not be a part of this fic, but I don't think I explained properly. The fic takes place before the timeline of the show, therefore those situations wouldn't have occurred yet. However, whenever I incorporate SHIELD Agents I may include cameos for some of the characters. just because they are part of the SHIELD universe. I hope this doesn't upset anyone.  
****P.S. I know it didn't seem like I was going to include any other demi-gods from the Percy Jackson world, but I did say I was, and now I'm delivering! :P**

* * *

**Chapter Ten - Puppeteer**

_November 19__th__, 2012  
1:03pm  
Earth_

What just happened?

Peter Parker stood directly in front of the Stark Tower, more so the "A" or Avenger's tower now due to the broken sign, and he had no idea how he got there. In fact, the last thing he remembered was leaving this very place, as Spider-Man, with his identity in the balance. For crying out loud, he had just managed to evade the iron-clad genius who resided floors above, so _what was he doing here_?

Thankfully, although he didn't remember changing back into his normal clothing, he was dressed as any other teenager his age, so at least he didn't immediately stand out from the rush of people walking in front of the building. Though, with each passing second another bystander eyed him slightly longer than a glance, and Peter knew he had to leave as soon as possible.

As he went to shift his weight to turn around, a sharp pain went through his head, blinding him for a second. His thoughts suddenly became hazy, his breathing feeling thick and unsatisfying. The stares that watched him were no longer of his concern as one of his legs gave out, dropping ungracefully onto the other. He didn't realize he had closed his eyes, but now he noticed the world was black, so he opened one, slowly, so the light wouldn't make the searing pain worse.

Within that second the headache vanished, but he was also left starring at the people he had seen mere minutes earlier, looking down at him in shock.

"Well," the snarky tone of Tony Stark range out, "If it isn't the _arachnid_. Why did you come crawling back?"

Hand clutched to his head with one eye still closed, Peter unsteadily rose to his feet, meeting both Avengers at eye-level. His mouth was forming words before he comprehended what they were, much to his shock.

"I'm subjecting myself to threat evaluation," the commitment in his tone even startled himself, and when he tried to speak once more against what he just said, the sharp pain returned with a vengeance.

His knees buckled once more, but he managed to stay upright. Through the haze that enveloped his vision with the second wave of pain, he noticed the worried look on Captain America's face.

"Stark I think he's hurt," the Captain voiced the obvious to his fellow avenger.

Tony, who was far too busy looking incredulous at Peter's words, snapped out of it. "JARVIS," he spoke into an earpiece, "Contact Romanoff and tell her to get back here ASAP. Get the suit ready too, I don't care if you have to disable the air-conditioning."

The migraine, still having not faded, finally brought Peter back down to his knees as darkness started to creep his vision. The Captain dropped down next to him, worry etched all over his features as he prepared to catch Peter were he to collapse.

"Peter? Can you hear me? What happened?" He spoke softly, as if this weren't the weirdest thing that's happened lately. Through the pain, he almost laughed at the absurdity.

_If I only _I_ knew what was going on_, he thought through the pain, his hands now clutching his head with fierce intensity, as if that would somehow lessen the barrage of agony. He knew someone was speaking to him, but he couldn't care to differentiate the meanings behind the syllables that formed words. He wanted nothing less than to collapse right there and then, if that would somehow stop the excruciating pain. The only thought that had been keeping him from doing so this long is that he may never be able to see his aunt May again if he let himself be putty in S.H.I.E.L.D.'s hands.

Regretfully, he could no longer fight the bombardment of blows against his mind, and although his fight was keeping him conscious, he hadn't the slightest idea what was going on. He felt strong hands grip him and heave himself upwards, making the world spin even more. He closed his eyelids as held his breath as a wave of nausea came over him.

When he managed to open his eyes again, he noticed he was being supported by Captain America's shoulder. Tony Stark was gone from his vision, replaced by an assortment of suited personnel. Someone peeled his weight from the Cap, only to lug him inside of the last building he had ever hoped to enter again.

Before he finally lost the will to stay conscious, he saw the worried eyes of the first Avenger and wonder if he looked as bad as he felt. He shut his own, waiting for the pain to fade into unconsciousness.

_Maybe working with the Avengers wouldn't be so bad_, said a voice in his mind, momentarily halting the pain. So shocked at the sudden clarity, he attempted to move, in which the agony resumed.

A female voice made it through his currently useless senses, which Peter would have sworn was Gwen's were he not what he presumed delusional.

_Do not fight, little spider._

**•ψ•Ω•ψ•**

"Look whose back from Italy."

Nico DiAngelo raised an eyebrow at the remark from his fellow agent. He didn't socialize much with the others, as was the standard of most people in his occupation, but he did have an acquaintance or two on his team.

"That a problem?" He asked off-handily, a joke or challenge present in his tone depending on how it was perceived.

"Not at all," replied Agent James Dalton as he strode alongside Nico, whom he presumed was determined to know the result of his assignment.

"You know I can't say a thing until I'm cleared," responded Nico to the silent question lingering in the atmosphere of the encounter.

"Oh I know. It's just good to see you in one piece." Stated Dalton with a smile, much to Nico's surprise. It was an understatement to say he didn't talk to others given the choice. When it came to Agent Dalton – the closest person Nico could call a friend – they've only ever spoken a handful of words to each other whenever the circumstance called for it. These situations usually meaning they were on a mission together. Reflecting on that, Nico would have never imagined there was anyone who worried for his wellbeing.

There was an underlying reason for why he didn't socialize, besides all the spy stuff. He never wanted to get to close to anyone, never again, not after what happened – has it already been that long – four years ago.

Dalton, noticing Nico's rather shocked expression, grinned. He stopped walking, waving a hand in a wordless salute as he strode through another one of the corridors sealed by fingerprint biometrics.

He recognized barely any of the many faces he passed, although that wasn't surprising considering the size of their workforce. Even crazier, there was a bigger facility located in Washington, D.C. that gave Nico headaches just thinking about.

The Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcement and Logistics Division was as much a force to be reckoned with as it was a mouthful. And in Nico's opinion – that was a lot.

It may seem utterly idiotic for a demi-god to be working for a government agency practically hell-bent on keeping interesting people on the radar. However, in Nico's opinion, which has always been slightly unorthodox, he deduced it practically kept _him_ off the radar. Hiding in plain sight.

That wasn't the only reason. A year ago, Chiron, the leader of Camp Half-Blood, suspected that mortals were becoming too keen in identifying elements of the supernatural, mostly due to their own tinkering in creating artificial powers in people, their own sort of heroes. At the time Nico had attended the meeting held for all the head campers of the cabins. He discovered the cause of the meddling originated from a worldwide organization dedicated to peacekeeping against Earth's more "supernatural" threats, called the Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcement and Logistics Division. With support from the Gods, it was decided a camper was to be selected from both of the camps and periodically intervene if the agency discovered too much regarding the Gods.

After much debate among the head counsellors, it was Nico whom was determined what he took as being expendable.

In the two years he's been working for S.H.I.E.L.D., it has been getting periodically more difficult to hide the identity of half-bloods and Greek Gods. The craziest things S.H.I.E.L.D comes across were always other-worldly. Alien most of the time, involving "Gods" from different planets. Nico wasn't surprised other mythology was real, although he was surprised that it stemmed from aliens. But so far S.H.I.E.L.D. had no clue of the powers they housed about the Empire State Building, thanks to him.

Now that Nico thought about, perhaps he was also working here for a personal reason. Ever since knowing what they do to people they deem too "dangerous" –either because of influence or raw power – he supposed as careless as he may seem, he wanted to keep them off his friends. To Tartarus with the actual Gods and their dedication _against_ being discovered – Nico cared solely about their offspring.

It was remarkable really, thinking about it. The Mist was truly a marvelous thing to have blocked the keen-eyes of such an agency for years, even with his help. Although Nico knew time was running out. Agents were starting to become more clear-sighted, especially after the Battle of New York. Aliens and superheroes had convinced even the populace the impossible was suddenly possible, and it had caused a stream of problems. The Mist, for the past few months, had been less effective in masking the problems arisen from being a demi-god, due to the fact that people were _willing_ to believe a monster had lived among them and a teenager was capable of wearing armour and wielding a blade.

_How crazy was that_?

More so, Nico had been sent on a two month-long covert undercover mission in Italy almost right after the Avengers incident on a lead of illegal smuggling of Chitauri weapons. It had taken him two weeks to locate the suspects, not to mention the problem of having to invent his cover to make it _believable_. Another week and he was trusted just enough to roam freely. Once he was able to do that, he located the illegal supply and contacted S.H.I.E.L.D. immediately. They prepared an extraction team and got him out a little worse for wear but otherwise okay.

Here he was a couple days later, prepared to debrief the _entire thing_ in writing despite the fact that like all others of his kind – he was dyslectic. They knew that of course, but they hadn't the specifics that Nico should be writing and reading Ancient Greek instead. There's also the fact that there is no conceivable way to explain that without revealing _hey, you know there are even _more_ Gods who have kids who also have powers and blah blah blah_.

Shaking his head of his thoughts, he placed his hand on a scanner into one of the rooms. A light flashed underneath his palm before a beep sounded.

Nico never would have thought himself becoming a spy, in fact the day S.H.I.E.L.D. approached him was the day he realised that spies actually still existed in today's day and age.

Of course, meeting them had been no accident. Carefully planned by Chiron and the other demi-gods, not to mention the Mist, he was suddenly wrapped up in a covert S.H.I.E.L.D. matter involving the fact that, technologically, he didn't exist.

He remembered their crisp suits and sunglasses, their no-nonsense attitude and he had wondered if they were some sort of men in black. They had flashed a badge that meant nothing but _run_ to him at the time, that being exactly what he did, in only to maintain the facade. They had caught him before he'd had the chance to shadow travel, (which he was totally going to do in the rush of adrenaline) and calmly explained that they had a few questions to ask him.

It definitely was not fun explaining why he didn't exist in their database. It was the reason that Chiron decided tipped the scale in his direction. With a little bit of supernatural prompting, S.H.I.E.L.D. went looking for him. He didn't tell them the truth of course, but he spoke something from the lines of his mom never registering his birth and when she died he and his sister fended for themselves. It was a story previously crafted by the brightest of the Athena cabin to eradicate any flaws.

Then they asked him about any family, to which he sharply declared they were dead and that was the end of that. From there, things just kind of happened according to plan. A nice man by the name of Phil Coulson had convinced him that the world needed people like him – those who cared enough to help and expected nothing for it – to work in the shadows for peace. The phrasing had amused Nico at the time and decided were he not required to accept, he would have sincerely considered it as there was nothing much in his life anymore. Of course he was always welcome at both camps, but he never quite fit in even after the second war. Nobody was mean to him, people attempted to include him, but honestly it wasn't Nico's thing. He'd seen too much death and decay to laugh without worry lacing his voice, to smile at his friends without a care. Nico would have told the agent that he'd already been saving the world without so much as a thanks, but obviously he hadn't.

That's when he realized that maybe for once this was a way to help those he cared about indirectly, finally a place he could be as invisible as he pleased.

The real question is why S.H.I.E.L.D. decided to hire him when he was just old enough for it to be legal. The plan obviously involved many different scenarios to provoke the situation, but he hadn't needed it. All it took was the demonstration of his physical prowess thanks to being a demi-god – he hadn't shown them anything odd or Gods forbid anything to do with his powers – and they decided to put him into a fast track of training. Perhaps they felt pity for a boy who was never known by the world, and precisely for that reason they thought it reason enough to enlist someone nobody would possibly know. Maybe they realised in the possibility that they could _create_ an identity for someone, completely from scratch.

And despite the fact that yes, he was a _spy,_ his life was as normal as he could have asked for. The Gods never bothered him, as long as he did his job involving their secret, and he even visited camp every now and then to report the happenings. The best part was that he made a decent salary to live on his own. He was also glad he got to look out for the well-being of others, learned how to use _guns_ (because what teenage boy at the time _wouldn't_) and got to legally travel the world opposed to his not so legal shadow-travel. Plus there was the fact that as a field agent he had a fantastic outlet to let out all his pent up ADHD derived energy.

For once in his existence, Nico felt like he had a purpose centered towards helping others. His only problem at the moment however, was the fact that S.H.I.E.L.D. was only a hair's breath away from discovering that Greek mythology consisted of more fact than myth. The Mist had begun to fail him. After a scuffle in Italy, he had to shadow travel to a different location. Upon sneaking back later, he discovered that they _knew_ he just disappeared into darkness. And that was _not good_. _That_ meant that the Mist didn't make an explanation to his disappearance _because_ the mortals chasing him were willing to accept the fact that he just disappeared.

It also meant that as soon as he was debriefed, he had a long drive to Long Island awaiting him, with all his jet-lagged glory.

The room he entered was filed with S.H.I.E.L.D. personal, scurrying about due to some disturbance. It only took a moment for his replacement supervising officer after the death of Phil Coulson – Agent John Garrett – to find him and start explaining the situation.

"Sorry to do this to you right when you get back, kid, but it seems like you'll be joining my team on an oh-eight-four."

"Oh-eight-four?" Nico asked dumbfounded. He knew many of the S.H.I.E.L.D. codes due to shear dedication, but he had never heard the term oh-eight-four used other than to describe the Tesseract. Up until now he presumed it was the term _for_ the Tesseract.

"Object of unknown origin. Usually a team goes in for threat assessment. Most of the time it means something alien." Garrett explained as he led Nico towards where he guessed the rest of the team was waiting.

"How did you know I was back?" Nico asked suddenly, as he had only showed up to S.H.I.E.L.D. an hour ago.

"You showed up on my log, so I waited for you where you should have been headed. Paid off didn't it? After all we were only informed about this… three minutes at thirty-eight seconds ago," Garrett said as he checked his watch.

This wasn't good. Nico had to get back to camp as soon as possible to inform Chiron of the failing Mist. Who knew what would happen on a 0-8-4? Worst case scenario, he's forced to use his powers and S.H.I.E.L.D. decides to detain _him_ as a "possible gifted". Then he ends up on the Index. That list gave him shivers. He was able to glimpse it once, for mere milliseconds, when Coulson was doing an evaluation on the Avenger's Initiative. The people there are the ones who are confirmed to have some sort of supernatural ability – being a mutation or an experiment or who knows what else – after undergoing what S.H.I.E.L.D. calls an "Index Asset Evaluation and Intake" report.

Lost in thought as he was, he didn't notice they were approaching the quinjet, which contained the two of the four other agents on Garrett's team. They stood just inside the open-hatch, awaiting their arrival. Nico saw Dalton, looking as happy as ever – seriously he _always _had a smile on his face much to Nico's annoyance – and next to him, to say Nico was stunned was an understatement.

Agent Garrett was the former supervising officer to four other agents, now with the addition of himself, which consisted of his team. Of those four, one was a specialist who always did covert undercover missions – much like the one Nico just did – that were much more difficult. This particular S.H.I.E.L.D. agent was the only one of the four that Nico had not yet met in person.

Agent Grant Ward.


	11. Questions

**Hi. This chapter gave me so much frustration writing. To be honest, it's been done for about a week now, and had about 500+ words of more content. I was very conflicted about how to pace this chapter and the ones that follow. I know there hasn't been any action lately, and I apologize, although *fingers crossed* if there isn't any next chapter than it will definetly be in the chapter after that. And I'm talking about the type of action that gonna be a headache to write. For now, enjoy this chapter, and maybe the next update will be earlier than another month. No promises.  
P.S. The poll on my page won't be up much longer, so contribute if you haven't!**

* * *

**Chapter Eleven: Questions**

_November 19__th__, 2012  
1:07pm  
Earth_

Shocked was an understatement when describing what Percy Jackson felt the moment he saw the two mortals he had previously saved from monsters, scrounging his bedroom for who _knows_ what.

The craziest thing was, for the longest time, his life had been relatively normal. He had _gotten used to _it. His normal did however consist of killing monsters when they showed themselves, but it also included the hours he spent volunteering at aquatic animal shelters, and making a decent living. So _why, _especially on the day of _her_ death, did all _Tartarus have to break lose_? He'd lost count of all the insane things that have happened today thus far, from saving mortals from monsters to meeting superheroes and unprecedented break-ins. What in the world was Eris thinking?

If Percy remembered correctly, the brown haired female was Darcy, the barmaid, and the other, even if he didn't know her name, was very stubborn in her _I have a right to know_ attitude. They both were really persistent from what he previously gathered from their constant questioning.

But, rewinding his thoughts a bit, none of that really mattered at the moment. What did however, was the one thought nagging his brain: _what in all of Olympus are they doing in _my_ room?_

Also, because he was the _infamous Percy Jackson_ he couldn't just ask them, no, of course he had to come up with some stupid statement that most likely made the situation more awkward then it needed to be, and that was saying something. Knowing the way he reacts to situations, he supposed it was said to lighten the mood, but he doubted it did anything close to that. Who _does_ something like that? Was he trying to be an idiot? He internally sighed, no use now, what's done is done.

He had stop beating around the bush and address the issue at hand.

Speaking of hands, he just realized he grasped an uncapped Riptide in one of his hands.

Glancing from the sword he wielded to the startled and slightly frightened females, he realized their paralyzed reactions could be because of the unspoken threat. Coughing awkwardly, he re-capped _Anaklusmos _in a smooth, almost indiscernible motion. That's when he truly realized that no matter how normal his life had been until now – he couldn't escape his identity. Instinct never fades after being used to fighting for your life all the time. After all, if those girls didn't have questions in the first place (which he doubted) they certainly did now because _hello he had a sword which he just made disappear into thin air_.

"So what's it going to be?" He said nervously (why was _he_ nervous they broke into _his_ room) while he placed his sword-free hand on the doorframe, potentially blocking their exit, "Are you going to tell me _why_ you're here and doing whatever it is you're doing," his tone suddenly becoming more alert, "or is this going to be a problem?"

If Percy was being honest, the only reason why he said the last part is because he thought it sounded cool. He didn't even know what he was referring to. He guessed it had something to do with his messy room (in which he couldn't even remember if it was like that before they got there). There was a threat in his tone, but it consisted of empty words. He wouldn't call the cops – that was literally a recipe for disaster. He wouldn't hurt them either – not only because his sword was made of celestial bronze and he _couldn't_ – he had no reason to want to. In fact, he had absolutely no idea whatsoever regarding what he should do. If his empty threat didn't work, he was going to be at an impasse.

However, the pair must have taken his words to heart as they snapped out of their deer-caught-in-a-set-of-headlights dazes, and looked about ready to assault him with questions.

"Are you Greek?" Darcy sputtered, uncharacteristically, and managed – still – to catch Percy entirely by surprise. He'd expected questions, but that one there seemed too random to be a coincidence in its correct assumption. Weren't they going to start with the sword or the monsters? The hair on the back of his neck prickled in warning.

"What?" He responded when he gained some semblance of a composure, because he _totally_ _didn't_ _yelp_.

"Yes," he continued gawkily, in an attempt to erase any unease from his expression, "but what does that have to do with anyth–" His voice stopped short when he noticed the urgent glance between the two girls. This was bad. He hated when he was right. It usually meant a monster is about to attempt to kill him in a painful nasty way.

"Where did the sword go?" The light-haired one asked, the question more to his expectation. That was something he could use to distract them while he thought of _anything _to make this situation better.

Percy internally groaned – he was terrible with plans – so in the meantime he fumbled for his pen in his pocket and brought it out to show them precisely where the sword went.

"_This_ is my pen," he showed them the object, "but it is also my sword." The next moment he had popped the lid off and revealed for the second time the gleaming bronze blade.

Darcy gaped like a fish at the statement, whilst her partner in crime looked wide-eyed in disbelief, but also with sort odd sort of comprehension. With the precious time he'd bought himself with their bafflement, Percy started racking his brain for an idea.

_Come on_, he thought as he twirled his sword in his grip, keeping his occupants interested, _what could I possibly do to… the Mist!_

Immediately he prepared to snap his fingers to summon the Mist and once and for all put this mess behind him. The girls, noticing his action as a threat, jumped back. He assumed with was due to the rapid motion he'd made with his realization, along with the fact that he was still wielding his weapon. While he pocketed his pen-sword once more he vaguely registered their next question. He didn't really care – ready to make them forget all of this – until he felt a familiar tingle go up his spine.

"What?" He stammered, feeling like a cornered animal. He thought he had steeled himself to their random questioning but… _what had they just asked?_

"Are you," Darcy gulped in what Percy presumed was frightened uncertainty, "the son of Zeus?"

Thunder rumbled in the distance and this time all three of them jumped at the sound. The two women glanced horridly towards the window – clear sky and all – before starring wide-eyed at Percy. It was his turn to gap at their statement. What, who, when, _how did they come up with that – please, please, uncle don't smite me for this. _

Taking a deep, shaky breath, he managed to mutter an incoherent, "_Zeus?_"

The disbelieving look from the girls before him told Percy his reaction had been something they _were_ – but _weren't_ – expecting, if that made any sense. He supposed his flabbergasted bafflement had practically screamed _yes! _in the terrified manner of someone with something to hide. That's when Percy realized that this ended up being so much _worse_ than bad, this was _insanity_.

Just as he was about to panic and potentially do something he might regret he remembered that his initial plan involving the Mist could solve this. Without a second thought he snapped his fingers, praying to Hecate with all his might in the process, before the blue-ish haze suddenly came into being, floating a mere foot above the ground.

_I was never good at this but thank the Gods this is working._

_We have never met_, he thought, _you two have never seen monsters, or anything out of the ordinary regarding me. You will forget all your theories. You will leave this apartment, forgetting you ever set foot in this building._ He hoped he was specific enough to erase and re-create the memories of these mortals starting from – around three this morning in the barmaid's case.

The Mist faded, leaving the blank stares of the women before him. They stumbled a few steps towards the door, confused, before the lighter-haired one shook her head and planted her feet.

"What?" She whispered, clearly unsure of her own perceptions. Percy cringed. If this didn't work, he was _screwed big time_.

She brought her hands to her ears as if to block out her own thoughts, before exclaiming, "What did you do?"

Percy paled. He had forgotten something incredibly crucial hadn't he?

"Did you do something?" She proceeded to ask, thankfully still confused, her voice weakening in contemplation, eyes squinting in Percy's direction. Darcy faced her friend upon hearing the statement.

"What happened?" She asked, her voice becoming clearer.

"I don't know," The other responded, her tone as equally clear.

"You," They said synonymously as they turned to face Percy, the confusion replaced with accusation.

_Shit_. _They're Mist immune._

•ψ•Ω•ψ•

_November 12__th__, 2012  
1:32pm  
Earth_

Nico DiAngelo _knew_ he should have expected it with his luck. He should no longer have the capacity to feel surprised – he's had his fill of surprises for this lifetime. Regardless, there was no doubt in his mind that he had no choice in that matter.

Of all the things he could have anticipated to encounter on an oh-eight-four, he was utterly not prepared for what was currently in the face. Okay, it wasn't in his face and rather like twenty feet away, but _he was there _and there wasno avoiding it_– _

_Thor_.

The Norse God, from mythology, with the hammer, _the-super-heavy-more-like-a-club-than-a-hammer_, that just so happened to live on another planet called Asgard. A cold calm seeped through his bones in the simple, somewhat mind boggling thoughts.

Once the lull before the tempest faded and the panic set in, the only thing running through Nico's head was – _my cover is so blown and I will not be able to fix it this time _– before he made to run like Tartarus in the other direction.

Well, that was his plan. He was no child of Athena, nor would he want to be, but this usually functional plan basically consisted of running far enough to shadow-travel, make up some excuse upon his return, and in this case – stay out of the God of Thunder's way.

The specialist on their team would have nothing of that behaviour, and clamped a hand on Nico's shoulder just when he was about to bolt in the other direction. He presumed was supposed to be an act of some sort of comfort. Maybe his fellow agent thought he was nervous to meet the _Mighty Thor_. Nico wished it was just that. Sighing and with no means of escape, he was practically dragged forward by the taller male.

"I haven't met him either, but I've heard he's friendly. He did help with that alien invasion thing two months ago – which you knew – so there's no reason for you to run for your life." He laughed, "You're a SHIELD agent after all, toughen up – you've faced scarier than this."

Nico knew it was all in good nature, but from now on, he had a _personal vendetta_ against Grant Ward. If his cover was blown, he was so blaming it on the man who didn't let him get away. He knew it was totally irrational but he really didn't care, he had a million and one other things on his mind. (He could just _hear_ Percy laughing in the back of his mind, in relevance to Nico's autopilot way of holding some sort of grudge to every person he meets. He internally tells Percy to _shut up_ so he can focus.)

That thought, gone in an instant, was enough to spark painful memories of the past. It added another reason to aid in criticizing the man who hadn't done anything quite wrong – it reminded him that no one acted _like this_ with him – _like they were his friend _– and got away with it. Not anymore. Not after the deaths of the last set of people he let get close to him. _Especially _not after the death of _Will Solace._

Nico remembered that day, remarkably exactly a year ago today. It had been colder than usual, the memory of the frost lacing the air in what should have been autumn still lingered in his senses. Will hadn't even been at camp. It wasn't the summer and the demi-gods had school, jobs and lives to return to – it was what was supposed to be the normal part of a half-blood's life.

_So why did he have to die? Why did they _all_ have to die?_

Nico remembered the shock, the look on Percy's face when suddenly death was everywhere and no one knew why. It was practically a camper from each cabin, none of whom were at camp. It was preposterous.

He'd felt sorry for Percy then, knowing Annabeth's death must have been the one thing that tore his world to shreds. It was a flash, embedded in his being with that hyper-aware state someone felt when the world became so numb with its meaning that suddenly everything had too much weight to bear. It had only taken a moment for Nico to realise he must be feeling the same thing because _Will Solace was dead_ and he couldn't breathe – the weight was _crushing him_ and _he couldn't do anything, he was helpless – he was always, always helpless._

The recollection popped then, and Nico realised it was all just the memory of a past long gone. He was fine now, _no he wasn't_, but that didn't matter – not now. He didn't have the time nor the effort to relive them.

The agent grasping his shoulder, supposedly reassuring him came back into focus, and Nico remembered that he had to leave because _Thor was here_. The time he had to escape suddenly vanished in a blink of confusion, and Nico was stuck, mere steps away from the Crown Prince of Asgard, knowing there was no way to avoid this fateful encounter.

He held his breath in the foolish notion it would make him invisible to the God of Thunder. He was desperate. He was reminded of the times when he was younger – small and helpless, always prey to the will of others – why couldn't he ever be in control of his own life? _Just as helpless as when he found out Will was dead and he couldn't do anything. _The_ son _of theGodof the Underworld_ couldn't_ do anything.

Thor met the eyes of each person of their four-man team in what was probably a silent greeting, before his gaze locked with Nico's. Blinking harshly, clearing his head of the fog the past brought, he shook his head indiscernibly in the God of Thunder's direction. Thor regarded him with a look of confusion, and despite his lack of understanding said nothing upon Nico's presence.

"Friends of the Avengers, I thank you for greeting my arrival. I come bearing bad news, unfortunately. I must speak to your leader with haste." He stated in his odd-manner of speaking.

"Nice to meet you, Mister Odinson," Garrett spoke without missing a beat, "Any information you have could be given to me."

Thor watched Agent Garrett with a look of uncertainty. "I believe the matter which I have come to discuss requires extreme caution, as new alliances must be forged. I fear Midgard is once again in great danger. That is all I will speak of. I will accompany you to address your leader."

Garrett looked about to retort when Thor spoke once more almost hesitantly, surprising everyone, "It would also do well to bring him," he stated as he inclined his head to Nico.

The rest of the team looked at him in confusion, to which he had no response he could give them. The only thing he could come up with is that somehow the Greek Gods were involved in all this, assuming Thor had recognized him for who he was, along with the notion that it was yet to be revealed to S.H.I.E.L.D. Although it wasn't as if he could casual tell the others that.

Regardless of whether or not his true identity was about to be revealed, the impact of what Thor just disclosed hit him. They were in danger again, and he had a feeling this time it involved the Gods. Why would Thor request his presence otherwise? Did he plan to create an alliance between S.H.I.E.L.D. and the Greek Gods?

•ψ•Ω•ψ•

"What's wrong with him?" Tony Stark asked, while he poked his "patient".

The patient in question was Peter Parker, also known as Spider-Man, and currently unconscious on Tony's sofa, whom was once again a questionably reluctant occupant in the Stark Tower.

"He just broke out of here – _literally _– so why did he just show up again? To pass out? This fucking kid I swear–" Tony continued, his words practically just meaningless tangents that Steve really didn't feel like dealing with.

"Language, Stark, even if you might be right. Something here, on the contrary, isn't. I hate to say this but this might be better if left up to SHIELD. After all, Peter did say he was back for threat evaluation, which is exactly what Natasha was attempting to persuade him to do." Steve spoke in response, mostly just voicing his own thoughts on the matter.

"Speaking of which, I called her like half an hour ago. Where is she? She couldn't have gotten that far," Stark drawled the last word, evident that something further was bothering him. Steve would have inquired to it if his thoughts weren't already so preoccupied.

His fingers twitched in anticipation, wishing that somehow he could aid in solving this predicament with the power he possessed. He was no doctor, and even if he was, Steve had a gut feeling that Peter's condition wasn't something any doctor could fix. With everything he'd seen recently, he wouldn't be surprised if this involved some other ominous threat out there. He also couldn't shake the feeling that he was being toyed with.

Who was pulling the strings?

There was something happening, he was sure of it. He just hoped he, along with his fellow Avengers, were prepared for whatever they had to face.

The odd man whom Steve had believed somehow controlled his coffee was pushed to the far recesses of his mind, forgotten in the chaos of events. There was suddenly so many more things that needed attention – that needed thought and planning and preparation – that he couldn't even fathom the freedom he'd had moments before. For now, his theory would have to rest, along with any other small concerns he had, and focus on the upcoming threat he felt coursing in his veins. There was _something_ coming, of what he didn't know, but nonetheless he was sure something was impending. He wouldn't be shocked if more omens revealed themselves before the battle he suspected truly began, the moment sides were taken and wages were stacked, because right now, it was the calm before the storm.

He may not be positively in tune with the present times just yet, but if there was one thing he was sure of – one thing he would bet the lives of himself and his friends – was that there was indeed a storm brewing.

For all Steve's worrying and speculation, he couldn't possibly sense the entity watching over their situation with curious wonderment. For he was indeed correct – the storm was nearly upon them.


	12. Common Threats

**I'm back! This chapter doesn't have any action, but the next one *crosses fingers* should. (Unless I drag things out even longerrrrr) To the guest who told me about using the term "The Sight" - thank you for informing me. Although, I do not believe I will be changing it for 2 reasons: 1) Mist-immune is a more generalized term for readers without knowledge of the term and b) I don't think Percy has come to the full conclusion that they have The Sight, as there could be other factors involved.  
Important: Let me know in reviews what characters you want to see more of (given they have already been introduced into the story) in terms of POV. I would also appreciate any advice people have in order to avoid OOC characters.  
(I was supposed to put this chapter up yesterday, you know cuz it was Percy's b-day, but I was busy and forgot. Sorry.)**

* * *

**Chapter Twelve: Common Threats**

_November 19__th__, 2012  
1:51pm  
Earth_

Clint Barton absentmindedly adjusted the forearm guard he wore. It was a nervous tick he'd recently developed when bracing for bad news. He didn't even know why he wore it anymore. He hadn't needed it for years, but he supposed he still wore it because of the hint of nostalgia it still held. It also reminded him that while confidence was justifiable, arrogance wasn't – especially when it led to foolish, preventable mistakes involving injury.

The current situation that demanded such a subconscious action was undeniably one that should not be taken lightly.

He stood in the corner of the room, (as he often preferred to do, the vantage point allowing him to adequately survey and evaluate his surroundings quickly and efficiently) as his listened to the hard-pressed silence created by tension. The reason could have been for many causes. It could have to do with the fact that Thor had shown up while claiming to bear bad news. That especially was never a good sign. The last time that happened the God of Thunder had been late in the delivery and many people had already died or been enslaved. Himself included.

The cold-pressed tension could also be related to the Director's reaction. Fury was scowling – as he always seemed to be doing – when Thor claimed that he had decided to reveal more unknowns about the universe to them. That was something that Clint knew the Director never wanted brought up. They all knew there were boundaries to their knowledge and many secrets were held from them – even from the Asgardians. Despite Thor's good intentions, it seemed to just further anger Fury, almost as a reminder that he wasn't in control of his information anymore.

After evaluating these reasons, Clint still presumed that the aura encompassing the room had entirely to do with the unwelcome presence – a rather standard ranking field agent whom Thor claimed needed to be here.

The four of them awkwardly positioned themselves about the space, the seats at the table unoccupied as they all stood. It had been minutes since Thor had arrived here after being retrieved and seemed reluctant to wait any longer to disclose the information he was willing to reveal. Sensing this, the Director spoke up.

"Mister Odinson, I suggest you start talking. You've informed us time is pressed and the others will not be joining us anytime soon," he stated, his scowl unwavering.

"I agree, however, I encourage you all to take a seat. This information is not for the light of heart," Thor said ominously, seemingly deciding an indirect approach to the topic would soothe whatever blow they were about to receive.

Hesitantly, the un-belonging agent in the room sat. Clint regarded him curiously and decided that if this would hurry up the explanation for Thor's sudden appearance, he had nothing against it. He sat in the seat nearest him, two away from the other agent. The Director stood still, his eyes staring directly at Thor with an expression detailing his unwillingness. Taking it in stride, the Asgardian finally continued.

"Midgard is once again in great danger. Due to the unforgivable foolishness of my fellow brethren, I fear to inform you that Loki has escaped our custody. I have no doubt he will once again target this realm, for Loki is not one to accept failure. Furthermore, his purpose, it seems, is now entirely his own – making him much more dangerous.

"From what I gathered, I can assume he is after the very deities whom rule over this realm." Thor paused, his eyes roaming the faces of everyone in the room.

Clint was in a mild state of shock. _That bastard escaped_. The same Asgardian who took control of his mind and turned him into some stupid puppet. The God who toyed with his talents and used them to pit himself against his – would he dare call the Avengers his friends? Shaking that thought, a cold rage settled deep inside him causing his fists to clench until his knuckles were white and his muscles strained. His teeth grinded as his jaw tightened, his anger barely being kept in check.

"Thor," The Director spoke harshly, voice clipped with the effort to remain civilized, "Are you claiming that not only did you let Loki _escape_, but that he's _coming back here_? You also better explain what you mean by deities. Am I to understand that there are beings like yourself – practically Gods – whom reside on Earth without my knowledge?" The quiet in which the Director spoke what practically the equivalent to the cringing sensation of nails scraping on a chalk board.

Thor frowned slightly, "I am just as angered as you by my brother's escape. I did not, as you claim, _let_ him do so. As for these deities – they are just as old – if not older than us Asgardians. They've resided on Midgard far before humanity and have been worshipped as such. I believe you may know them as myths from ancient times, originating from Mount Olympus."

The other seated agent shifted slightly at the words, and suddenly Clint had a strong instinct that the mere boy next to him needed to be restrained. He suspected that whatever else Thor was about to reveal was not going to bode well with any of them, especially the agent.

His next thought registered the words _Mount Olympus_. That meant Greece. Was Thor trying to explain the ancient civilization of _Greek Gods_ existed?

The Director sighed deeply. "And you're revealing all of this only now because…"

"These… Gods… are more powerful than we Asgardians. Their lifespans are not simply long – they are infinite, regardless of their state of being. This meaning they cannot be killed by any means. They control all of this domain – the sky, the land, the sea, the dead – all matters of life are in their hands. They have protected this realm for many millennia against threats mortals do not even know occurred.

"Loki, I am guessing, plans to dethrone them – to reside as the single ruler over this realm. Previously, he'd attempted angering them into action by slaughtering many of their subjects. He has now realized his mistake – that humans are not the next descendants of the Gods. Rather, as myths of this land explain, these Gods were notorious for committing many, somewhat atrocious acts among mortals – including the spawning half-breeds. Half-mortal and half-god, these descendants are much the equivalent of Asgardians, although their lifespans are not elongated. They participate in wars invisible to the eyes of those unaware and devote their lives to serving the Gods. They are the descendants Loki is now targeting to achieve his goal.

"Fortunately, we are in the company of one such demi-god." He finished, gaze shifting ever so slightly to the agent he'd demanded attend.

Clint along with the Director focused their stares towards the young agent. He audibly gulped. He knew he was caught. Clint narrowed his eyes. He was right, this agent needed to be restrained right now before anything crazy happened–

A mere second before he brushed the demi-gods wrist, the agent was standing, already a foot away from his grasp. It was barely a blink of the eye before Clint was once again upon him, but it was too late.

The agent had ran directly towards the darkest corner of the room before simply vanishing, his presence gone and replaced with empty air.

All their eyes widened, and while Clint was angry at the sudden and rather supernatural departure, Thor smiled slightly. Slowly, Clint stalked back towards his seat, his mind still whirling to comprehend all the information – including how a boy had just disappeared into nothingness.

Scowl deepening on the Director's face, he practically sneered, "What do you suppose we do then? Your 'demi-god' just vanished, likely to report everything that just happened to these Gods."

"That is exactly what was needed to be done. When he reveals the information we have learned, they will first attempt to erase our memories. I am assured it will not work, for their methods only distort truth into what can be believed as plausible. As long as you believe their existence plausible, they cannot erase it from your minds. Once they discover this, they will most likely send a mediator of their own kind to address myself and my betrayal of information. It is then, regarding the punishment I will most likely have to adhere to, that negotiations can be formed concerning an alliance against the common threat."

Director Fury finally decided to sit down.

"These children of these _Gods_," Clint started, his tone in slight disbelief, "you claim are like Asgardians. Does that mean we should expect an array of, well, powers?"

"Depending on their heritage, demi-gods may possess certain abilities. The stronger the God, the stronger their offspring. They are all versed with weapons – those such as we Asgardians use – in order to dispatch the beasts that hunt them. In consequence, many of their kind do not live past their adolescence." Thor explained, the reality of the information finally settling into Clint's mind.

They were all _kids_. _Kids_ who got hunted and slaughtered before they got to live their lives. They were enslaved from the moment they were born until they died.

"In recent Midgardian years, much strife has occurred in their honour. Far more than is currently seen for many spans of time. Two wars have occurred, each equally threatening to the fate of Midgard." Thor stopped speaking at the harsh look of distrust on the Director's face.

"You must not become angry at these demi-gods nor I for these secrets – it was their sole responsibility to save you realm knowing they'd receive nothing in return. You also must not demand answers to all your questions.

"Finally, under no circumstance should you reveal their existence unless instructed to do so. I have taken responsibility for the safety of whomever in this room due to this knowledge, however anyone other whom threatens their society with this information may be subjected to irreversible consequences."

•ψ•Ω•ψ•

The entity stood, poised and with eyes alight. They darted frequently along her surroundings, acting as the only indication towards her anticipation.

_It was time._

She felt it. The way the air crackled with his presence, the thunder, the lightning, the _power_. It meant only one thing. That _he_ had escaped, and none other than the God of Thunder had followed.

She wanted to show those men – whether mortal or not – the beasts they truly were, until all that was left was for them to cower at her feet. At the current moment it was but a simple fleeting dream.

She had been irrational. She knew it with every fiber of her being. She thought she could outwit the king of lies, the demon of deception. For such thoughts, she was going to have to pay dearly. Her hand shook ever-so-slightly in fear of the unknown. _He_ would discover her betrayal soon enough, and although she believed _he_ wouldn't punish her to the point where she could no longer assist _him_, she was still incredibly terrified.

She _despised_ that feeling.

She hated that _man_. _He_ could play with her as easily as she could play with her pets but, no matter what she attempted, she could not do the same in return.

For the time being, she had decided for her own health to refuse to acknowledge that she was indeed under the commands of _him_, strictly because it wracked her consciousness. It seemed denial was her best option in order to get out of this agreement mostly unscathed. She had nearly convinced herself as much, until _he_'d communicated a single demand.

The nerve. _He _had infiltrated her carefully guarded thoughts for merely a moment, voicing _his_ commands in her mind. It was the ultimate insult. For another sorcerer to be as skilled as she – to flaunt _his_ talents directly and without consequence – it was an incredibly dangerous game of wits they were playing.

The thin line they tread was truly something to behold, her allegiance barely enough to be considered such merely because she had not the strength to defy _him_. The command _he_'d uttered to her was also incredibly odd, almost as if _he_'d been aware of her ulterior motives this whole time. At this point, she would be shocked if _he_ hadn't, although it did cause a shiver to go up her spine.

She had always, always been the predator hunting its prey. Even when she was caught she had not submitted to the petty laws of the realms, accepting the solitude thrust upon herself. But now, she was the prey. She was leashed – practically sedated – all due to _his _doing.

She reached a hand to her ear – expecting the blonde ringlets to be just shy of her fingertips – before she remembered they were no longer there. It was all a part of the preparations _he'd_ intrusted. _His_ plan was cunning and shouldn't require her assistance for too much no longer – not when _he_ himself had been the orchestrator this whole time. That is what made this disguise – her obedience – worth the freedom she would gain from assisting _him_. Instead, she chose to admire the current coquelicot locks framing her face. They were quite nice – or at least bearable for the time being.

The most difficult part of her current predicament was the persona. She was a master in deception, thus she wasn't vexed when encountering situations when she needed to observe and replicate the actions and emotions of others. There was also the matter that the very person she was mimicking was very secretive, hence any slight change in demeanor on her own part might be completely unnoticed. Like this, she would be able to pursue her own objective – Thor – for quite a short while before _he _discovered and she would have to leave the rest up to her pawn.

This woman had been a strong one, one that she almost regretted having to defeat. Strong women were always such a pleasure to encounter. It also made this disguise much more fulfilling – knowing that her comrades would have a natural admiration for her power, despite its reasons.

It may not adhere entirely to _his_ plan, but she was still fulfilling her portion of their deal – so where was the harm? Oh she knew how picky _he_ was with _his_ plans, how each detail was so meticulously measured and deliberate – but she was just having her fun after all. She needed some distraction. Trapped, she'd been for years and years, the time outside her grasp and aging her, although surely none have noticed. She was indebted, regretfully to this _man_, whom was as capable with cunning as was she, despite the fact that _he_ was much more vicious. _His_ cruelty could truly know no bounds. Even as she may be free, she was ensnared in _his_ clutches. This was her dismay. This was her _trepidation_.

This was the reason she could not betray _him_.

This _man_ – _he_ wouldn't just lock her up once more to rot. A complete betrayal would result in a fate worse than death – a fate worse than she was willing to believe she could prevent. For now, her only choice would be to act discreetly and remain valuable.

Therefore, when she departed under the cover of _his_ elaborate schemes, she could claim her role was fulfilled. She _would _escape him. She refused to live in fear of _his_ wrath. She wouldn't cower at the mention of _his_ name.

She had her own name. A name which spoken to any man would leave them wishing for her presence. A name that women either feared to encounter or idolised to become. Her name may have faded during her imprisoned absence, but it could never – not for millennia to come – lose its power.

For she was the Enchantress, and as it should, her name enchanted all.

•ψ•Ω•ψ•

_Date unknown  
Time unknown  
Olympus_

The stench of ozone was strong and rather unappealing to Loki, whom currently strode, uninvited, in the realm of the Gods.

His feet glided silently across the porcelain tile, his eyes briefly skimming the ancient architecture which reminded him of millennia ago. The last time he was here had been practically yesterday, when Olympus had resided over its homeland.

He'd been banished multiple times by the one whose power rivalled his brother's, albeit only after his many altercations. None of which Loki had deserved. Was it his fault that the Goddess of Beauty participated in a game – a contest of sorts – which she could not win? She had been too prideful, so much so she did not see the reason presented before her, nor fathomed the requirements had she lost her wager. Therefore, when she was bound to become his wife, the King of the Gods declared this against his wishes. Loki would rather not recall that lengthy and unrelenting battle that had him sent to this realm's Helheim, wherein he'd competed against Hades for lordship.

After that rather unsuccessful but entertaining endeavor he'd left Midgard to its own devices, his boredom having caught up with him. When he finally returned – through barely a shred of his own will and power – he wasn't in the least surprised his brother had grown so attached as to counter his plans.

_Deeply flawed plans_, he reminded himself.

This time, he was prepared to do his absolute worse, especially with his newfound knowledge and realization. Due to that, he'd thought it would be polite to give a fair warning to the Olympians, lest they claim surprise was the only factor to his victory.

Loki was getting ahead of himself. Assuming the battle – _war_ – was won before it began was a mistake only utter fools made, for that kind of misplaced confidence never followed through. He had to simply remain aware of what was and the potential of what was to come. With those aspects surveyed, it was logical to accept that he had the advantage.

He was mere steps from the throne room of the Gods, where chaos was soon to rage. His presence often did that to even the most noble, elder beings. Even if it was stretch to claim these Midgardian Gods noble. They were practically equivalent to the filth they spawned.

With a simple breath, he expelled all thought of such things – as they would surely sense it – and his mind became a mask only he himself could breach.

The lavish doors swung lazily inwards as he finally approached, making no sound other than the wind that stirred. The shouts obviously pertaining to some sort of argument faded into that noiseless wind, when Loki graced them his presence.

"Midgardian Gods," he addressed, his tone practically mocking them with its formality, "I, Loki Laufeyson, have come to issue a declaration of war. Your realm is soon to be mine, regardless of how you retaliate. That is all."

Barely waiting for the uproar that would follow his statement, he found it more practical to deliver himself elsewhere. His brother would be arriving momentarily if he had not already and Loki still had much to prepare. He didn't dare trust the Enchantress with everything he was planning after all.


	13. The Beginning

**Hello everyone. Just wanted to say thanks again for anyone sticking with this story. It means so much to me when I see new reviews, follows and favourites. They all motivate me to write more, faster. That's why I'm going to attempt to speed up my updating schedule now that we are getting to the good bits of the story - meaning things are going to finally start tying together. I don't know how frequent I'm going to make them yet, but when I decide you'll see it on my profile. Don't forget to check out the poll!**  
**I know I said action would be prevalent in this chapter, and although there is some, it is not what I promised. That is because I decided to include this scene that I was never going to actually write, just mention it when necessary. The action will come soon. **

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**Chapter Thirteen: The Beginning**

_November 19__th__, 2012  
1:16pm  
Olympus/Earth  
_  
One God watched Loki's statement in slight amusement, though of course, none knew.

•ψ•Ω•ψ•

Darcy was sick of roundabout answers.

What ever happened to straight forward truth? What happened to honest decency? She supposed her argument was somewhat invalid, considering her form of company most of the time. However, that didn't mean she didn't want real, decisive _answers_. No more puzzle pieces to put together, no more riddles to solve. She was on a war path right now, determined to get answers she deserved.

That's why she met Percy's gaze without breaking it, stood her ground even though technically they _were_ trespassing and could be charged for it, she didn't care. She didn't know why exactly – perhaps because of what Percy had done – she was positive he wouldn't turn to the NYPD for anything.

If she had any worries at all by this point, it was the fact that Percy seemed to have a sword he could wield at any given time. She really didn't want to find out what it meant to be on the pointy end of one. That's why even when she felt incredibly bold, she was starting to doubt her resolve when the male in question didn't back down. One of his eyebrows was slightly raised in some unassuming inquiry, even though _he_ was the one being questioned, before he finally decided to do something.

That's when her memory got a little fuzzy.

She did remember questioning him, although she didn't remember what she asked or if she received answers. She remembered the sword – the terrifying weapon that had her biting back her retorts when in its presence – and something to do with a pen. When she stopped trying to figure things out, everything seemed to get a bit clearer. With a click her thoughts were surprisingly clear following those imperceptible events, but still that indiscernible vague chunk that had her mind reeling and suspicious.

She had no doubt it was Percy's fault.

Glancing at Jane, she knew whatever had happened to her had also occurred to her best friend. Together they glanced accusingly at the culprit, who was at first startled, which turned into an exasperated sigh.

Darcy was offended.

What did he take them for? He was acting like they were flies buzzing around his head – annoying but tolerable. Just as she was about to speak her mind on the matter – matter_s_ as it was– now that she thought about it, Percy stumbled backwards as if he was struck.

It shocked Darcy and Jane more than she supposed it should have. The tension in the air had just been so thick, laced with unanswered demands and determination that she'd been so high strung as to practically jump out of her skin at the disturbance.

After her initial wave of shock, she watched in alarm as Percy clutched one hand to his head and the other on the doorframe. Until that moment, Darcy had been prepared to yell at the top of her lungs for explanations. Now, that simple action was enough to throw her entire equilibrium off balance.

He hissed as he clutched his head even harder, shifting his stance away from them in the process.

There was something about the sudden vulnerability he was displaying – the hunched shoulders, tensed muscles, and tired posture – that made her voice catch before she could announce whatever she had been about to say. A faint disposition told Darcy to go up to him, put a hand on his shoulder and ask if he was alright. In retrospect to everything he did for them, she shouldn't have even second-guessed the thought. In spite of this, she clamped down on the action as soon as it surfaced. As much as she wanted to be a good person, the situation was far too perilous for anything of the sort.

His nails made muffled grating noises against the wood, his white knuckles betraying how much he was actually using the doorframe to support himself. That's when she noticed how prominent the bags under his eyes were, along with the hallowed, haunting look on his face, before, well, everything seemed to go to hell.

His voice practically broke when he croaked a fierce, "Leave."

They didn't need to be told twice. The whole atmosphere of the apartment had drastically changed, bringing about a metaphorical flashing _danger_ sign along with it. Neither of them had any inclination to stay any longer than they needed, and that time was now.

Darcy just passed him in the doorway before he dropped to a knee, fingernails scratching the doorframe with a sharp _crick_. She almost tripped in surprise. Upon closer inspection she realized he was practically shaking and she didn't know what to do. She stood there for a solid few seconds, starring at his drooped head before her reason came back to her and she remembered that he'd told them to leave.

Respecting his wishes, she hurried to Jane who was waiting for her in the hall.

The silence that followed their hasty retreat from the room and out into the main living area was almost worse. Their footsteps were audible but somehow subdued by Darcy's own thoughts. They were filled with a dreaded sort of anticipation. She knew that wasn't good. Whenever she got that feeling it was almost always true and she really, _really_ didn't want to see what it was like with Percy against them.

All she was able to process was the floorboard creak ever so softly before a swift, _zing_ had caught her attention as her hair rustled. She spun in reaction to the disturbance and her breath hitched. She hadn't even noticed the sword until it launched itself past her and Jane and buried into the door that led out of the apartment. It had missed both of them by slivers it seemed, lodging itself in the wooden door.

Nothing until that very moment had warned them that Percy was anything _but_ a decent person, considering he'd risked his own life saving both of theirs. With this turn of events Darcy was suddenly plagued with even more confusion, this time sprouting from fear. She had been _sure_ he wouldn't attack them, and for the most part he hadn't seemed like he was going to. What changed?

Darcy quickly caught Jane's eye as they both gulped in a form of muted terror. Turning slowly they were left slightly disoriented as they stared at Percy. Instead of the terrifying male they were expecting to face, they found he wasn't even watching them. His eyebrows were furrowed, eyes shut as tightly as they could. The hand that threw his sword – his right – was still poised in the air, trembling by the look of it.

Slowly, it dawned on Darcy. He looked like he was in _pain_. Why?

She had no idea whatsoever what was happening. She read the signs like a book but couldn't seem to grasp their meanings. A diluted belief clouded her mind, giving her a slight trickle of hope accompanied by a double helping of horror. Not knowing whether or not it was wishful thinking, she considered the possibility that maybe Percy wasn't doing any of this purposefully.

She knew it was stupid. But, she also understand that with this fucked up world, it was _possible_. That was all she needed at the moment.

When Percy finally opened his eyes, a little more of her sliver of hope shattered.

For that eternity consisting of a moment, she watched his eyes narrow, their sea-green dark with malice. The slight change in his eyes swiftly made his expression dark and brooding, even terrifying. For an instant, Darcy couldn't breathe. She was unexpectedly cold with dread, her legs having turned to lead. The reason: she was no longer able to look at him and convince herself that he was one of the good guys.

That's how the wave of doubt crashed into her mind. Her head was flooded with the ideas of why and how and she just didn't know how to accept all of it. How did she know for sure that he was _good_? She'd come to that conclusion on false hunches – that if someone was apparently nice and willing to help others, they automatically did it for good reasons. How was she so sure that he _didn't _have ulterior motives? As far as she _knew_ everything he'd been doing so far could have been for his own means.

She was an _idiot_. A reckless, utterly stupid idiot who had just condemned herself as well as her best friend to _death_ _by sword _unless they found a way to get out of there. Like a heavy weight was just dropped on her shoulders, she realized that for all she actually _knew _about Percy Jackson he could be a _psychopath._

She snapped herself from her thoughts when her knees almost buckled. The final stretch – the door nearly a handful of feet away – seemed impossible. The sword was lodged in it, and although not hindering the mechanics of the actual door, it seemed like enough of a warning. _Another step and be skewered_.

But then again, Percy didn't have a sword anymore. That meant that his reach was limited and even though she guessed one solid hit from him could have her down for the count, she knew this would be there best chance to get out of here. For these next few seconds he didn't have his _pointy piece of medieval metal_. Perhaps if she could even get to the sword, she could yank it out – and then what? It's not like she had any idea how to use it.

Her thought process apparently had taken up far too much time because the next thing she knew was that he was right in front of her, face twisted into a snarl. She didn't even have time to flinch before his hand was wrapped around her neck, halting her breath. His face held no emotion, his ominous look in essence an indissoluble mask.

For the first second of being strangled she could still think clearly because she didn't need air quite yet, and all she was able to process was that while Percy was distracted with her Jane could escape. With a start Darcy never expected that in her final moments she would be so selfless. Regardless, she finally started to realize she needed air. She struggled fruitlessly, fingers clawing and legs kicking at empty space. In response Percy lifted her by the neck, making her struggle so much more difficult and all the more frantically futile.

There was no way she was getting out of this. His grip was too strong, her own body too weak to cause him enough damage to allow her to get free. She didn't even have her tazer, (to which she'd been berating herself all day) and even if she did she doubted she would be able to use it in her current dilemma. The black spots in her vision made it impossible to try to land one of her flailing, random kicks. Her arms and legs were losing their fight, sagging as oxygen deprivation took hold. She had no energy left. She had no breath left. Just as she was about to give up, she felt his hand release its hold as she collapsed to the floor. If she had any air left in her lungs, it would have been torn from her by the jolting impact.

The next thing she knew she was gasping, swallowing air like it was food, her own hands touching the tender skin of her neck. Her vision was clearing, as she was just able to make out that Jane had grabbed some sort of picture frame and smashed it on Percy's head. Unfortunately, it hadn't knocked him out. On the bright side, he had released her. She quickly told herself to be ever-grateful to her best friend.

Some of the broken glass must of did some damage, as a line of blood welled above his left eyebrow. When he recovered from his lost footing, he spun around and grabbed Jane's hair before she was out of reach. She shrieked in response, body immediately retreating towards him in reflex. With a sharp pull he yanked Jane hard enough that she lost her balance and tumbled on the ground next to Darcy. With a wince, they both looked back towards him.

They watched, petrified, as he seemed to fight with himself. He had backed away from them until he hit the counter of the kitchenette. He'd once more closed his eyes, a grimace lacing his features. Darcy was paralyzed watching the blood trickle down his face, his fists clenched so severely that she saw red swell underneath his fingernails.

"Go," he growled sharply, the syllable short and rough. It was barely more than a grunt.

It broke both girls out of their stupor as they scrambled to their feet and ripped the front door open harshly, carefully avoiding the lodged blade. Fear and adrenaline fueled their every movement until they had sprinted down the stairs, out of the building and merged with the crowd a block away. They only stopped when the apartment complex was far enough away to be indiscernible among the other buildings, their breaths uneven and in short gasps.

Jane's hand was bleeding slightly from a couple small shards of glass from the broken picture frame she was still holding. She hadn't seemed to notice. Darcy was much the same. With the adrenaline still her blood, she barely felt the tenderness accompanying every breath she took. She knew that she would definitely be feeling and seeing the result within the next few minutes.

Once she finally recovered enough to speak, she managed a "What the actual _fuck?"_

Jane gave an exasperated sigh at her unpleasant language. With a forced chuckle she said, "What happened to 'I doubt it's dangerous'?"

Darcy was half tempted to smile if it weren't for the severity of what had just happened. They could have died as shocking as it was to process. Percy could have actually, permanently, _killed_ them. As in dead. For good.

As crazy as her life was thanks to that fateful day when she'd ran over the God of Thunder (multiple times, man was that embarrassing), this was the first time she'd been this close to death. Her life had been _threatened_, but that was different. Before now, the danger had been imminent, even present, but she had never felt as helpless as she just had. This time there had been barely any warning, before she realised how defenseless she actually was. She had never truly realized how easily the light that was her life could have snuffed out – and it could have, just like that. It sent a shiver racking down her spine.

With a more somber tone, mirroring Darcy's current mood, Jane asked, "You okay? For a second there…" She didn't finish. The answer was clear enough to both of them.

"Yeah," Darcy replied, the syllable a bruise itself as she spoke it. Not wanting to speak more now that she was starting to feel the pain, she simply inclined her head in her best friend's general direction, hoping she'd perceive the question.

Jane did and winced as she attempted to peel her fingers off the picture frame, as a few thin, shallow cuts ran along the palm of her hand from the broken glass. They had already mostly scabbed over. She carefully removed the actual picture before dropping the broken frame in a garbage can.

Darcy recognized it. It was the same picture she had knocked over this morning – _was that only hours ago? _Jane glanced at it in shock, her eyes lingering on it with suspicion.

"Half-blood?" She murmured softly, "A lesser known word for those with a common parent, also meaning half-breed. What kind of _camp_ would be named _Camp Half-Blood_?" Darcy didn't even want to know when her best friend had become a walking dictionary, and rather focused on what she was referring to.

She glanced at the picture in Jane's hands, at the smiling faces of a teenage Percy and some girl. She hadn't paid it much attention the first time she'd seen it, their matching orange T-shirts plain and worn. As she looked at it now she cared to read the simple black lettering.

_Camp Half-Blood_. Jane was right, that was incredibly weird.

Darcy though back to what they had questioned Percy. She was one hundred and ten percent sure they asked him _something_, but for the life of her she could recall any of the answers they received. She was on the verge of giving herself a headache when she finally managed to dig up something – a startled facial expression, a boom of thunder. She sighed internally in disappointment.

At same time, Jane seemed to be overcoming her own mental struggle. Darcy guessed that whatever had been done to them concerning their memories of that certain instance in time wasn't going to be easily undone. Jane bit her lip in curious manner, alerting Darcy that she was speculating something.

Darcy grimaced as she spoke, the ache in her throat apparent, "I know that look," She accused, "What do you think it means?"

The corner of Jane's lips tugged upward slightly, giving the indication that maybe one piece of useful information had come out of this mess. "I don't know really, but it doesn't deny anything…"

"Spit it out," Darcy encouraged, desperate for any reassurance that her almost-death wasn't in vain now that there was even a splinter of possibility.

"I think it means we're right."


	14. Purloin

**It seems I've done exactly what I didn't want to do. Sorry for the extended wait for what is most likely a meager chapter. Updates will continue to be slow. It is becoming difficult to do so, to say the least. I might attempt to wrap up this fic quickly if it comes to that. For now enjoy the chapter and feel free to PM me.**

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen: Purloin**

_November 19__th__, 2012  
1:16pm  
Earth_

Agony.

Pure, undiluted, pulsing _agony_.

That was the only feeling in Percy Jackson's head. He didn't even know how it came to be. It was nothing like the times where he was launched into a wall by a monster or whacked his head on the floor. It was nothing like the disoriented, blurry feeling of concussions or aching headaches that developed slowly into migraines. No, this feeling here wasn't right – it wasn't the natural response to injury, it wasn't the body's way to instill caution and fear.

It was a coursing, writhing thing, a parasite in his very nerves. _Something_ was in his head. He felt its intent – all destruction and rage and malice – but there was also intelligence and cunning, deceptiveness and trickery. It was almost conscious, like strands of thread weaving its way through his thoughts with unimaginable pain.

He had almost forgotten about the two women in his apartment and when he turned to once again look at them the agony flared with unrestrained wrath. He was choking on his own contorted emotions, ones he knew spawned not from his own mind. He felt his fingers twitching without his consent, pain flaring through his muscles with the only relief being to follow this foreign instruction.

His whole body _yearned_ for relief from this pain in anyway possible.

Torn between morality and self-preservation, he knew not what this _thing_ was capable of – what it could possibly make him do. It was slowly shredding the self-control he had left, the will to fight it no matter the pulsing behind his temples. He thought he muttered something of a warning to the occupants in the room – at least he hoped he did – before the pain was back with flare and _what was he doing his body was moving and acting and_–

His sword arced through the air, narrowly missing both girls. He panicked, the momentary wrenching of _wrongness_ emanating from his very core allowing him a short reprieve. _He didn't do that, he would never harm anybody, any mortal, for any reason_. He closed his eyes with all his might. Whatever force was at work in his thoughts, it was relentless and _powerful_. With dread, he knew he wouldn't be able to fight it – hell he'd already lost – and he was paralyzed (figuratively) with the realization.

Sensing his apparent struggle, the pain became blinding and numbing, increasing tenfold, his senses a mess of indiscernible motions. He wasn't even sure he was conscious anymore. His thoughts were floating ideas without tangible meaning, his body moving with conviction and purpose. He was nowhere and everywhere, insubstantial and inexistent, and it was completely indescribable.

_He was suddenly back in Tartarus – his blood racing, adrenaline pumping, fear racking through his being. A hopeless desperation for any form of rescue – his body starved for clean air and sunlight, for the ocean breeze and salt water. It wanted the raw feeling of soil beneath his feet and wind through his fingertips, snowflakes on his eyelashes and the dim, guiding light of the stars…_

_He opened his eyes but he did not see. The blackness was infinite. This night was starless, the darkness consuming the light until there was nothing but a void of indecision. He felt the raw toxicity of the air, the darkness that creeped into his pores and bones and suffocated his breath. His muscles were sluggishly unresponsive, a sweet lullaby echoing in his head, goading his surrender. He did not feel the air and the earth, the opposing forces as if they were one, forever apart but struggling to grasp one another, with him stuck in between, but he knew it was there, its struggle present in every breath he took._

_The air was gone. The earth was gone. Gone was he into the bowels of the Underworld, left to fend for himself… alone. That wasn't right, he was not alone. He didn't have to do this alone, he chose this, chose to decide to fight to protect Annabeth._

_Death was not an option._

_Poison was his salvation._

_All he ever needed to do was understand. Water is everything: water is life and death and apart of everything in the world that can be defined as either. He could control it all. He could feel it course through his own veins, he could feel it swirling in the poison surrounding him. He could strangle Misery with her own poison because he could control it – _he would make Misery feel his Misery_. _

Tears, a terrified whimper, and suddenly the piercing pain was back enveloping his thoughts and light was everywhere.

He wasn't in Tartarus. Not anymore. He looked in horror to realize what just occurred – to what he'd done – before his hand swung out once more out of his control and gripped the hair of one of the fleeing girls and yanked her to the floor.

He was a bystander in his own body. He let the _thing _get control.

_No!_

The agony was back, but this time it didn't matter. Nothing would make him relive those memories, never again. Tartarus was over. His nightmares couldn't get any worse – they were gone, memories of a place he would never visit again. He would not watch himself commit these atrocious acts due to that feral bloodlust, he would _not_ condone these actions.

However, he didn't know how long he could fight this agony before he finally gave out and worst of all he didn't know what would happen if it came to that. With whatever strength he mustered from nowhere, he told the women to flee. They needed to be far from him. No one could be near him - not when this _thing_ was in his head and he was left defenseless to protect those around him from himself.

He didn't know how much time passed, how much time he spent trying to keep his body motionless and his own, before the agony receded and he collapsed to the floor, back against whatever he found himself to be leaning on. He had no strength to look.

He had no strength to do anything but stare aimlessly, eyes locked on the sword he'd impaled into the door.

•**ψ•Ω•ψ•**

Natasha Romanoff's vision was hazy and her head was pounding like someone gave it a harsh blow with a steel baseball bat. She knew the feeling well.

Wherever she was it was incredibly dark, a single candle as the only light source, placed a few feet in front of her. The chair beneath her was hard as rock and cold as ice – most likely steel. She felt and heard the cuffs rattle on her wrists, currently bound together behind her back, behind the back of the chair. There was a rope pinning her chest to the back of the seat as well. Her feet were separately tied to the chair legs – that's what it felt like, even though she couldn't see it for herself.

Her mouth tasted like copper and her muscles ached from her position, especially the ones in her neck.

An edge of panic laced her thoughts, although she never allowed it to cultivate. She would never let fear control her – she had all the skills she needed at her disposal and rational thought in situations like this was one of those very skills.

What was the last thing she remembered before finding herself in this circumstance?

She was heading back over to Avengers Tower – that's right, because for some odd reason Spider-man had changed his mind and returned in accordance to S.H.I.E.L.D's laws on vigilantes. After that…

A man? A woman? Someone had spoken to her…

And now she was here.

Everything else was a hazy blur, as if the memories were obscured by a fog. The only thing that seemed to explain why this was was that some sort of supernatural force was involved. Great. She hated feeling like she was out of her league, even though she knew she could hold her own as well as any other Avenger.

She sighed deeply, knowing just how undesirable her situation was. Carefully she tested out the strength of her bonds, realizing that whomever had tied them had indeed known how to properly tie restraining knots.

Attempting to shift as much as she could, she attempted to grab the small pocket knife she would have kept in her pocket, not surprised to find it wasn't there. That was fine. It was purely tactical in a way – usually people underestimated her and when they found the knife, thinking they'd found the only weapon on her person and henceforth ceased their search.

Her casual clothes were simple – jeans and a shirt with a rather un-modest neckline. The tricky part was going to remove the concealed knife in her brassiere, be it she needed it. However, as she was Black Widow, she usually didn't even need a knife for this situation – just a lot of pain tolerance.

In one quick, jerky motion, she grit her teeth and dislocated the thumb of her left hand. Just as quickly she freed her hand of the hand cuff and popped the joint back into place, feeling the muscles start to swell and bruise in irritation. Her hand wouldn't be at its finest – one of the biggest disadvantages with this means of escape – but if she thundered through the pain it would still obey what she told it to do.

Hands now free, she attempted to work the knot between her shoulder blades. The kidnapper was smart – the knot was placed right where it would be difficult to reach, especially since it was limiting her torso and upper arm movement. Straining to reach it simply made the knot tighter, and Natasha clenched her jaw in irritation.

Switching tactics, she managed to get her arms in front of her. She carefully proceed to attempt to loosen the rope against her chest, just enough to retrieve the concealed blade in her brassiere. It wasn't quite right to call it a blade – it was a very sharp pin that was crafted into the undergarment, which could be retrieved by pressing near the point – causing the pin to reveal itself by slicing through the fabric.

It was a very dangerous design, as a forced blow to the chest could send the pin into her chest or arm, but Natasha was usually careful enough for it to never come to that. It fact, she'd never been punctured by it yet.

Managing the find the spot, she carefully pulled the pin free, wary of its tips and used to it to slice the rope tied to her torso as she brought it free. Arms and chest now freed, she carefully manipulated the pin into slicing the ropes by her ankles. It wasn't easy, nicking her ankle twice on one foot due to how tightly the rope was bound.

Lastly she used the now dulled blade to pick the lock on the remaining cuff on her hand. Once that was done did she finally stand up, stretching the aches from her limbs. Her body was sore enough to suspect that she had been seated, unconscious, for at least a few hours.

She examined the candle.

It didn't seem to have any obvious triggers – no cracks in the floor, an absence of thin wires – so she risked picking it up in order to further investigate her current prison.

She didn't recognize it, whether that was for better or worse was yet to be determined.

"So many arachnids to manipulate… so many indeed," spoke the calming voice of woman, its origin indistinguishable.

Natasha was immediately prepared for any attack, her stance low and balanced, her mind prepared to block out anything that wasn't considered useful information. She didn't yet know who her adversary was – or where they were for that matter – but she couldn't afford to not be prepared as much as she could especially when magic of some sort could be involved.

"Such a pity you are such a strong woman, such I pity I will have to break you… piece… by… piece…" continued the voice ominously, smooth as honey.

Natasha knew that voice, although she couldn't pinpoint its basis. Where has she heard it before? Who did it belong to?

"I wonder what _he'll_ have me do… will he want your body shredded or your mind shattered first? Decisions, decisions…" The voice drawled on, most likely just communicating at this point for dramatic effect. Natasha attempted to tune it out while she tried to just remember.

"Your friends will look for you… as they should. Maybe I should keep you sane just to see your anguish when you lead them all to their deaths…"

Natasha locked her jaw. That's was this was. Some play to get to the Avengers, some power crazy person wanting a shot against the best of the best. That was fine with her. Nobody truly understood their team's strength and many who challenged them were ridiculously unaware of how different they actually were.

But… something stirred inside her stomach, even as she assured herself. A sense of unease settled into her gut, as if she should make sure this never came to be.

"Who are you?" She asked in return, not really expecting a decent answer.

The silken voice chuckled in some sort of savage delight, but gave no other response.

Natasha took a more thorough sweep of her surroundings – no windows, external light sources, forms of temperature or air moderation, in fact – there wasn't even a door to exit the room, at least not an obvious one in the typical sense. She also couldn't discern any colours – everything seemed to be different muted forms of grey.

The walls, ceiling and floor were smooth as granite, no marks or cracks or creases anywhere. Even the steel chair she sat it seemed untouched. The candle in her hand flickered with real heat – yet as she examined it more closely, none of its wax had melted in any shape or form.

There was only one explanation for these attributes: Magic.

Now that she was certain, she was also much more uncertain of how she was going to get out of this or stop the Avengers from walking into what was most definitely a trap.

•**ψ•Ω•ψ•**

Steve Rogers was still not prepared for this rest of his day.

Since meeting the stranger that played tricks on his mind or encountering the teenaged spider-like vigilante he thought – maybe – the next few hours could be less eventful. But whenever has his wishful thinking ever come true?

When J.A.R.V.I.S. finally announced the arrival of one incredibly late Natasha Romanoff, whom was supposed to be here a while ago to recover the unconscious Spider-man, he couldn't have helped being relieved at her presence. He really didn't want to deal with the unconscious teenager across the room, especially when he woke up. Steve had no doubt that when that time came it would be an utter disaster. His relief was cut short, however, when Stark's electronic butler informed them that she was accompanied by an unidentified stranger, whom she had granted access with her and _refused_ to identify.

It was an understatement to say it rung a few bells.

With some sixth sense he always seemed to have in the face of danger, Steve suddenly wondered if Natasha's presence was such a good idea after all. Even if they had current custody over an incapacitated mutant they had no idea what to do with.

A quick glance towards Stark indicated he was just as baffled by this mysterious presence. Steve was only slightly grateful that he wasn't the only one left out of the loop – as it often seemed to be these days.

"That's a breach of protocol." Tony exclaimed, dramatically offended, "Jarv, run a facial rec-scan. I'm not in the mood for any more surprises."

For the amount of information that was lost on Steve in that statement, he absolutely agreed with the last part. There had been a surplus of surprises today – enough to last the rest of the week at least.

"My sensors seem to not be working properly. I'm sorry sir, I cannot do so." J.A.R.V.I.S. replied.

A skeptical look crossed Tony's face, which Steve mirrored. He understood enough of that to realize that there was _something_ wrong with these events. Particularlywhen Romanoff started hiding things it became a sign that there was trouble afoot. And Steve was pretty much done with trouble since the whole Loki incident. Couldn't superheroes like him ever have some sort of break?

Just as Tony was about to ask another question – Steve guessed because his mouth was hanging slightly ajar – the private, restricted, _supposedly avengers-only_ elevator opened revealing their guests.

There was Natasha, in all her casual glory, a hint of a smile on her lips and secrets in her eyes. Although that was not what caught Steve's attention. It was the figure next to her.

The Captain blinked once, twice, before rubbing his eyes. He had to be certain of what he was seeing. There Romanoff was, dressed to impress in the subtlest way possible, but by her side–

_What in the world?_

During his bafflement that Stark, as per usual, was utterly oblivious to, proceeded to walk towards the arrivals with a displeased frown on his face.

A jolt raced down Steve's spine, worrying him enough to lock him in place. Paralyzed by his own misjudgment, he was stuck watching the next set of events unfold like a performance. _Something _was so terribly_ wrong _with this picture.

"Do I know you?" Tony asked, to which Steve would have face palmed if he wasn't still frozen in shock. Leave it to Stark to forget the face of someone he'd glanced nearly an hour before.

A sudden overwhelming panic overcame Steve as Tony went wide eyed in skeptical realization, freezing in place like him. The no-longer mysterious stranger held out their hand in a gesture implying a handshake, to which Tony tentatively responded. After all, from everything that they had researched about the guy, Steve hadn't given Tony any _real_ reason to be weary. He'd explained his suspicions, but how was Steve supposed to explain the vibe he'd received – of how he'd sensed some sort of battle-worn professionalism and a tiredness that only came from seeing too much?

But now, in that moment, a strong feeling to make sure that handshake never happened overwhelmed Steve, _screaming_ at him to get himself and Tony as far away as possible.

Steve's alarmed expression and suspicious glances went unnoticed, doing nothing to provide any sort of warning. Tony never even bothered to glance in his direction. In fact, only one person had noticed.

Percy Jackson grinned.

Within that clasp of hands, suddenly Tony was yanked off balance and stumbling forward, only now becoming aware of the impending danger. Steve didn't know what was going to happen, all he knew was that he was too slow and that he was stupid and that he should have just _known_.

A sword, seemingly spawning mid-air appeared in Percy's left, free hand. The Captain couldn't do anything to help – to stop whatever was about to happen. For all the strength he gained, for all his efforts to hope he never let another friend get injured, he was too far and too slow to do _anything_. Even when he lunged forward in a futile attempt to tackle Percy.

_He blinked and he was suddenly watching helpless as he reached for Bucky's hand, his best friend a breath away, watching as his effort failed and the icy tundra that swallowed him up._

In Tony's defense, he did try to punch Percy in the face. It was a good punch too – straight, hand correctly curled, the power coming from his core and not his arm – but it was easily avoided with a quick shift of posture on Percy's part. With that, Tony was put even more off balance and practically stumbled into Percy.

Steve's eyes scanned Natasha for a fraction of a second and he took in the way she just stood there watching, within distance to disarm Percy, her sly smile gone and a neutral expression of indifference adorning her face. Her eyes were ice cold, their secrets blazing and gaze piercing and unreadable, her posture tense but composed.

Steve was able to shift his eyes once more, locking them with Tony's alarmed ones. Panicked gazes intertwined for but a moment and Steve _knew_ Tony's fear, could see it as clear as day.

Regardless, he was left uselessly watching Percy swing his sword, knowing he'd tackle him too late.

His lunge wasn't going to make a difference and he watched the next few seconds in what seemed like decreased time. It allowed him to quickly admire the skill and ease Percy wielded the blade he possessed, along with the information that he was left-handed or ambidextrous. Always analytical, it did nothing to help him stop the inevitable.

The Captain's breath caught in his throat as the weapon passed clean through Stark's exposed neck.

Steve chocked, grappling Percy's waist a second too late as they both plunged onto the cold marble floor. The Captain's mind was clouded with shock, a silent cry still in his throat as he didn't dare look towards his friend – _a friend he had lost all over again._ In his distraction, Percy rolled as they fell, getting the upper-hand before using the momentum to separate them.

Steve didn't even think about how in his momentary panic, Percy could have easily injured him in his compromised position. Instead, he'd just jumped away. Both now back on their feet, Steve finally realized Tony was still undoubtedly in one piece. His head was most certainly still attached at the neck, definitely not lolling along the floor with the dead eyes Steve hated more than anything. _The dead eyes of comrades on the battlefield, the skies cloudy with anguish and the wind bitter with pain. _Percy was standing once again beside Romanoff, where his sword was gripped limply at his side.

"Interesting," the Captain thought he heard the male mutter under his breath.

The events rapidly _clicked_ and he was once again upon them, growling, "Romanoff." His tone even surprised himself with the amount of venom hidden behind it. He didn't know why he didn't immediately jump to Tony's aid, but he supposed it was because in his subconscious he knew Stark was fine. He also didn't know why he didn't once again attack Percy and contain him. There was something in Natasha's expression, _something_ that beckoned his challenge.

"Looks like I might have overstayed my welcome," the woman in question responded, her voice a purr and definitely not the indifferent voice of Natasha Romanoff. Before he had a chance to do anything in response, she vanished, leaving behind but a fading after image of a beautiful busty blonde-haired woman with a mischievous gleam in her eyes. When he blinked, any sign anyone had been there disappeared completely, to the point where he thought he almost imagined the mysterious blonde woman.

Percy still stood there, although when Steve looked at him he dropped his sword with a loud clang across the granite floor. He was wide eyed and terrified, stumbling backyards as he glanced around him. He ran his hands through his hair before falling to his knees and whispering a hopeless, "I – I didn't do it."

Leaving a disgruntled Percy to wallow in probably fake pity, Steve turned back towards Stark. He saw his fellow avenger was still standing in the exact same spot, shock written all over his face. With a shaky voice that quickly steadied with time, he questioned, "I'm not dead?"

Steve couldn't help the grateful grin that creeped his features as he shook his head in a slow, "No."

Taking a deep breath, Steve went back towards the male he didn't know to think of anymore before yanking him up by the arm. There was no struggle, he simply let himself be lead wherever.

The Captain was unsure what to think. It was obvious that it was not Romanoff who was with him, rather someone else with the ability to look like her and disappear. Which meant there was some sort of supernatural force involved. That's why he allowed himself to consider there was the slightest chance that Percy hadn't acted of his own free will.

Regardless of what he believed, Percy Jackson was now in S.H.I.E.L.D. custody for the attempted murder of Tony Stark.


	15. Debts

**There is nothing I could say that would excuse what I've done. I'm an utter hypocrite for making you loyal and inspiring reviewers, favouriters and followers wait months. I can't promise it won't happen again. I kindly ask that you bear with me.  
Enjoy.**

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**Chapter 15 – Debts**

_November 19__th__, 2012  
2:00pm  
Camp Half-Blood_

Chiron hadn't felt like a true mentor in a long time.

The heroes always came and went, with very few ever coming back for him to mentor once more. As was their fates as children of the Gods. They were subjected to the whims of their parent, deeds and quests that got them killed more oft than not. Due to this it was Chiron's duty to care for them and train them to face their upcoming challenges. It was his job to show them how to fight their demons. It was his job to show them they could survive in a world that seemed doubly dangerous, with godly and mortal weapons and opponents seeking them alike.

Each time he would think,_ Perhaps I could train this group better._ He would try to assure himself that this time they would survive because he would make sure he taught them every single skill they may ever need. He always thought he did. He always taught them everything he could think of.

Too bad the fates didn't agree with that plan. As much as he tried, Chiron couldn't contain the reckless ones, the demigods who became addicted to their newfound power and felt like they could take on the world – the ones that thought they could _save_ the world.

_The demigods who felt like it was their duty to change the world because they had the power to. _

Don't get Chiron wrong, he thought it was a wonderful perspective to view society and hope to better it. But ignorance played a large factor in this decision – and that, he couldn't tolerate. Ignorance got demigods killed more oft than not. Ignorance was not acceptable when it was his job to educate and train them. Ignorance would never be the factor to their constant demise when he had the opportunity to prevent it.

And yet, they all seemed to die too young and too quickly, no matter whatever he tried.

Until, only once, had a demigod done exactly what he'd come to dread to its reoccurrence – depart on a quest... and returned safely, his quest complete, himself unharmed.

And his name was Percy Jackson.

For once the fates had listened to Chiron's call and had spared the life of a half-blood, of an _extremely_ powerful half-blood, only to put his life through more continuous turmoil. Of course they would save the demigod who potentially held the fate of the very world in his hands. The outcome of the reign of the Gods, even.

And so it didn't stop.

This boy was subjected to far too many trials, all leading up to the ultimate prophecy, the one that should have been fulfilled and marked the end of this rule of hardship for Percy Jackson.

The next prophecy shouldn't have been active for centuries in the least, the boy deserved that much. He deserved to live the rest of his life free of the many sufferings he already had to experience.

But the fates were not done with Percy Jackson.

The prophecy once again had to include the renowned Percy Jackson to suffer even more than a demigods' fate.

A Goddess stole months from his life in which his family suffered searching for him. With his memories stolen, he was forced into unknown territory, subjected to even fiercer trials to try to prove himself.

And still he prevailed. He conquered the Roman camp as a _praetor_, a leader. He led the road to change that had only been dreamed of for years, for thousands of years. He was the key to uniting Greek and Roman once and for all.

And still the fates were not done with Percy Jackson.

A primordial force was back and hungry for revenge, revenge involving the blood of Percy Jackson himself. Like any proud demigod, he wouldn't dare back down, but him even more so when his friends were in danger. That was his fatal flaw.

Personal loyalty.

It's a wonder it didn't have him killed on his previous quests. For this one, it almost did.

He couldn't abandon a friend when their life was at stake. Even if he was running into a trap – which he most definitely was. However, like all endeavours previous, he succeeded in saving his friend's life as well as his own.

It was never enough for the fates.

Percy couldn't dare watch the love of his life fall into the _pit_, the trench of darkness and sorrow itself. _Tartarus_. A place as old as time itself, full of grievances that should never be known. Chiron knew it wouldn't have cost him a second thought. Percy threw himself down right there with her.

_It would have been too sweet to kill him there_, Chiron thought sadly, _as the fates were anything but merciful to Percy Jackson._

Instead, the demigod dared to prosper once more, escaping the literal hellhole. Chiron knew, despite his relief, that it was too good to be true. This was a feat that had never been accomplished by a mortal before. But Percy Jackson did it. Although, not without a price.

When it came to Percy Jackson, the fates always had a price.

The ever-good demigod had finally reached his breaking point. His power, already something strong enough to rival minor gods, had cracked a barrier it should have never even thought about touching. But that was the strength of willpower – of desperate willpower encompassed by a fatal flaw that seemed good in moderation but dangerous with extortion. And so the barrier shattered.

A realm of power open to a demigod who should not be capable of wielding it. Power that should have literally consumed his body's flesh for fuel, power matching the equivalent of too much ambrosia.

But still the fates were not done with Percy Jackson.

This power broke him just a little, with only his anchor keeping him restrained. He hasn't realized it yet, but this was the start of a sharp decline.

Chiron couldn't bear to see it happen. And just like all the things he couldn't bear, it eventually had to occur. Everything was inevitable. Like failed quests. Like the heroes' deaths.

Annabeth died. And so did a little of Percy Jackson.

And yet still the fates decided that this was not his final trial. They decided that he should have yet one last tribulation.

They had given Percy Jackson a few years rest. Now, the world needed him to save it again.

Chiron stared solemnly at the boy in front of him, the one that had constantly been neglected and used but was trying so, so hard to be the best he could be in a world that always seemed to turn against him.

For a moment, Chiron wondered if the tragedy that surrounded Nico DiAngelo was worse, but shook the thought. Comparing misfortunes would get them nowhere.

Percy Jackson had saved Nico's life not once, but many times. Maybe it was time for him to repay the debt.

"Chiron," the child of Hades greeted, "they know."

Chiron knew this day would come. Mortals always tried to learn once more of the truth. Sometimes they succeeded. Sometimes they didn't.

He sighed, "Tell me."

•ψ•Ω•ψ•

_November 19th, 2012  
1:45pm  
Earth_

Percy Jackson gritted his teeth, trying to keep himself from lashing out.

_Everything's fine_, he lied to himself. His thoughts were muddled and distracted, his rising panic keeping him from properly sorting out the events that occurred earlier today.

_It's just a blindfold, the darkness is not real. It's just a blindfold, this is not Tartarus._

Deep breath. Breathing was the only thing he could focus on, the only thing to keep his ADHD enhanced nerves occupied. His wrists were bound uncomfortably by something cold, although as he was seated his hands were bound in front of him, resting on his lap. His feet felt linked too when he tried moving them, with enough room to probably allow for an awkward walking gait should he have to move. He was seated in a vehicle that _smelt_ expensive, all new-leather and firm seats with the drive being surprisingly smooth.

He clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms as his panic spiked. The voice in his head seemed gone for now, or so he presumed, but that didn't lessen the anxiety coursing through his veins.

The way the _thing_ had tried to control him... the way it _tricked_ him into thinking he was back _there_, replacing his reality with those terrible, agonizing memories…

He almost killed three people. His sense of self-control wasn't enough. He could withstand the pain it threw at him, pain was old-news, and pain was almost a comfort in the way he knew to combat it. But _this,_ it fooled him, made him think and see things that weren't there. It could make him do anything, if he thought he was defending himself or defending his friends. It could happen again. It could manipulate everything he was. It could abuse his fatal flaw.

The mere thought sent a tremor down his spine.

And yet, something in the back of his mind was pestering him, lurking and waiting, working its way to the forefront of his thoughts. It slowly started to feed his unease, fueling his panic and desire for self-preservation.

It was a selfish little thought, pushing and pushing its way forward, until he couldn't help but confront it.

_What's stopping you?_ It seemed to ask. The scary part was that it didn't have the sickly sweet mantra behind it, as the foreign thoughts did. It felt like his own.

_Why abide to the whims of others?_ It prodded him, almost causing Percy to physically flinch. There was no honey to accompany this statement, nothing to make it seem appealing in the slightest. There was no pain to accompany it, acting as some sort of incentive. It was just a timid little thought, almost bitter in the back of his mouth due to its honesty.

_How hard would it be to escape? _It taunted. Percy absentmindedly clenched and unclenched his fists, twitching as they hit an unusual bump in the road. It was rattling his senses, defying his very sense of self. He _knew_ he wasn't like this, he didn't think like this, he was _good_ – wasn't he?

He gulped and couldn't seem to shake the _bitterness._

_They don't understand. How could they? The darkness you had to endure… why don't you show them _real_ power?_

Percy tightened his jaw. He didn't know where these thoughts were coming from. Their innocence bothered him, the natural way they formed as if there was nothing unusual about them.

His muscles started to ache and he straightened his spine in response.

_They are going to lock you up… in the _dark_…all over again and all alone, _the thoughts whispered, and his panic suddenly turned to ice-cold fear. The type of fear that built in his blood until it turned his veins to ice. The type of fear that froze him solid until he couldn't breathe, its coils latching around his heart as its very own beat sent his nerves wracking.

It was primal.

He couldn't go through _that_ again, not without Annabeth. And the memories… he was _not_ revisiting Tartarus in his mind. Who knew the desperate things he would do, just to escape it?

_And why not?_ He asked himself, almost aghast at the proposition. _Remember the power you wielded? Who will stop you then? Who would challenge you? You stopped for Annabeth, but wise girl is gone._ The thoughts kept droning on, becoming a buzz in the back of his mind. Until one, louder than most, stopped the ruckus and pierced his concentration.

_Why not make them _fear_ you?_

His own fear snapped and he jerked upright, muscles taught. He _needed_ to get out of here. It didn't matter anymore how much of a threat he considered himself to be, with that _thing_ inside his head that compelled his memories – he could _not_ be imprisoned, not again, not _alone._

He would _break_. He thought he already was breaking. He was _talking_ to himself.

Percy managed to get Riptide out of his pocket, as his trusty sword was always there, and waited. There was no immediate response to the item his retrieved, so he assumed no one was actively watching him.

Leaning forward, he pointed the tip of the pen downwards and twisted off the cap. With a subtle _shing_ Percy heard the sword's tip graze the bonds that linked his feet. A slight shift of his feet revealed that the sword did as intended and broke the link.

A quick flick of his wrists against the blade broke the cuffs and Percy wasted no time reaching for the blindfold.

The light was sharp against his eyes for a moment, but when they adjusted he noticed that he was in the backseat of an SUV, with a black leather interior and tinted windows. A panel separated the driver from the back seats, or in this case – Percy.

His panic slowly subsided with his regained vision. His urgency to escape dwindled as well. His growing ease, however, sent his restless thoughts into overdrive.

_They'll kill you! _They emphasized, a headache forming behind his temples, _you almost killed an Avenger! You would have succeeded too, if Riptide wasn't made of Celestial Bronze!_

_Do you really think after something like that they'll risk your survival?_

Percy capped Riptide.

Despite his best efforts, he couldn't block out the thoughts. They clouded his judgement and lingered, a chorus of angry whispers.

The sun was still high, but the chill of fall could be seen by the colourful leaves strewn across and under the trees. They weren't in the city anymore. No high-rises could be seen. It was just red-orange trees and pavement, stretching on as far as he could see.

He could _feel_ the distance from the ocean.

But… that wasn't right. He hadn't been the in the car that long, he presumed, it wasn't like he was knocked unconscious or anything of that sort. How could he feel so far from home?

His unease started to grow again, giving the whispers something to latch onto. He closed his eyes, trying his hardest to block them out. With a deep breath, they quieted and he was alone in his thoughts.

Until he opened them and he wasn't.

"My, my, haven't they made you into a _wonderful_ mess?" Said the man seated next to him.

Percy wondered if it was some minor god he hadn't yet encountered. After all, gods always wore clothing definitely not of this era and spoke with the sort of authority that demanded attention and obedience.

He wasn't even surprised at this point. He was never free of their influence. They would have him think he was always in their debt, for the mere circumstance of his existence.

They should be in debt to him, for the amounts of times he saved them from supposed destruction.

However, something the stranger said fit improperly with his assumptions.

"They?" He questioned, too tired and too impatient to try to cater to whatever formalities were expected of him. It went unnoticed.

"Yes, they. _Mortals_." He spat the word with disgust, "Even half-ones it seems are dim-witted and full of wasted potential." He sighed dramatically, "However, I have heard many things, Percy Jackson, and have reason to believe you could be of much use to me."

Percy raised an eyebrow but wasn't all that surprised. Gods felt entitled to his life like he was some sort of pet. In a way, he was. It wasn't like he could choose _not_ to do their bidding lest the world end because of his decisions.

"Who are you?" He decided on asking. It sounded more curious than anything else. Percy was so tired of dealing with immortals. They created and destroyed his life. Couldn't they just leave him alone?

"Wouldn't you like to know?" He inquired, rhetorically, "Very well. This might come as a shock to you, or maybe not, I can never be sure anymore with you Midgardians… I am Loki, God of deception and trickery, or whatever other titles your kind seems to come up with. Some call me in the incarnation of evil… I think that one is a bit more subjective, depending on varying opinions. To you, though, I am none of those.

"I am your salvation, to be rather direct. I will free you of their leash if you decide to aid me. Regardless of your free will I have ways of making you cooperate. It's all very simple really. You've already done my bidding, as you've probably realized. The fact is, you don't have a choice in the matter. I am here for formalities."

Loki. _Loki_. Percy couldn't wrap his head around it. Now _different,_ non-Greek gods were trying to manipulate him. Gods not even from this planet, it seemed. Still, despite all these differences, Percy was left none the wiser about how to say _no_.

And he knew that Loki was the bad guy. Who didn't? He destroyed half of New York City, killed hundreds of peoples in mere days and tried to rule the world. He was supposed to be in some sort of godly jail or _something_. The Avengers beat him, captured him, and shipped him off.

So why was he _here_, in this strange, unfamiliar car that was carting Percy likely to some S.H.I.E.L.D. facility for questioning and imprisonment? Why did everything seem like one giant joke with no one informing him of the punchline?

_Poor little demigod_. The voice was back, strange and honey-like in the way it stuck to his thoughts and sweetened his resolve.

_Why not take this chance?_ It asked. This time was different. It didn't want to force him. It wanted him to make the conscious decision.

_What have the gods ever truly done for you? Made you save them, time and time again. They made you suffer in their stead and resolve their problems on their behalf. _The voice reasoned.

_They never appreciated you. _

_They stole everything from you, never letting you experience a normal life. You've had to watch friends die, fight deadly battles and expect nothing in return, not even gratitude._

_They took your beloved Annabeth from you and refused to give her back._

_Do they deserve your loyalty?_

They didn't.

But Percy was never going to betray his kind. The Gods weren't his kind, but their children were. They were his friends, his family, and would protect them to his last, dying breath.

The Gods didn't deserve his respect nor his help, but they needed it, it seemed, as they kept coming back to ask him for more, more, _more_. It didn't ever end. But he complied. The world was always at stake. How could he refuse when he was one of the only ones capable of saving it?

He couldn't help but be reminded of Luke Castellan.

_He was about this age_, Percy couldn't help but remark, _when he decided he'd had enough of the Gods_. Luke was tired of their manipulation. He was tired of their ingratitude. He was tired of being _controlled_.

The scary thing was that now, Percy couldn't disagree with his cause.

If Luke had approached him now, Percy feared he would have agreed. After all this time, still the Gods did not realize their mistakes. They kept taking and taking and taking, never understanding that there was a limit to how much one could _take_.

Percy had taken it all for far too long. Not once, but twice and forever in between. He was done taking their orders. He was done being their pawn. He was done playing their game.

He would be his own pawn now.

"Yes," he whispered, the word but a trace on his tongue, inaudible. He breathed it cautiously, testing the true weight behind the statement. It could be this easy.

"Yes," he said more firmly, that the God next to him tilted his head at the response. Percy couldn't stop the grin that reached his lips. _It could be this easy_.

"Yes!" He shouted, laughing, knowing that this little word meant a freedom that would never happen.

He figured, if he played along for now, that _voice_ wouldn't completely control his mind. If that was the case, it was preferable to be the lesser of two evils, he supposed. This way he could insure the safety of others. This way he wouldn't be stuck in his own personal nightmare.

He would play their game his own way.

"Good to see that you are not as dim-witted as I initially reckoned. Rest assured, your potential will not be wasted." And with that, Loki disappeared as quickly as he'd appeared – without a trace.

Maybe this way, Percy Jackson could still save the world, this time of his own free will.


End file.
